


Unstoppable

by Thunderbird587



Series: SMN Universe [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Arguing, Auror Training, Aurors, Break Up, Case Fic, Cute Teddy Lupin, Dirty Talk, Duelling, Established Relationship, Fluff, Gossip, Hand Jobs, Harry Potter is a Good Parent, Healers, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Light Bondage, Magical Accidents, Makeup Sex, Making Up, Marriage Proposal, Mental Health Issues, Misogyny, Multi, Murder Mystery, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rimming, Secrets, Serious Injuries, Smut, Teasing, Teen Pregnancy, Terminal Illnesses, Vaginal Sex, Weddings, references to violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:20:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 233,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22138462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thunderbird587/pseuds/Thunderbird587
Summary: Sequel to "Say My Name," set four years later.Vesper has left the world of competitive dueling to enroll at the Auror Academy. Hermione is planning her wedding to Ron while harboring a painful secret. Harry and Draco take on the joys and challenges of parenting while balancing careers, friendships, and their own relationship.Tags will be added as the story continues.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hannah Abbott/Neville Longbottom, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley, Narcissa Black Malfoy/Original Male Character, Theodore Nott/Pansy Parkinson, Vesper Kemp (OC)/Blaise Zabini, Vesper Kemp (OC)/Original Male Character
Series: SMN Universe [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1593436
Comments: 580
Kudos: 446





	1. Academia

**Author's Note:**

> Hello my darlings! Here is a new fic for you for 2020. I promised myself I would start posting this come January, and now we're here, so I figured I should go ahead and do it. I've been hesitating because... to be honest... there are parts of this story I'm not totally happy with. I recognize it needs some work and, though I've gotten very far with it, it's still unfinished. I'm going to be revising what I have and posting weekly, and I welcome feedback (of the constructive kind). I'm hoping that posting it here will give me more inspiration and motivation to write more. Comments are a huge help with this!
> 
> This is the sequel to my first fic, Say My Name, and there is a lot in it that is the same, tonally. My boys are eternally in love and there is plenty of fluff to go around. But there is also A LOT that will feel different. I just wanted to give all of you fair warning before you start: 
> 
> For one thing, it's multi-POV and rotates between four main characters. Their stories are woven together and overlap a lot, but they have their own distinct plot lines as well. Measured out, it's about 50% Drarry, with Hermione and Vesper taking 25% each.
> 
> Also, the characters are a few years older, real adults, and there are a couple of heavier topics dealt with here, namely terminal illness and mental illness (of secondary characters) and references to past sexual assault. There will also likely be, towards the end of the story, some blood and violence with respect to a couple of storylines, due to there being Aurors and Healers in this fic dealing with cases and patients. I will try to keep it to a minimum because I don't love writing those things. But there are times it is necessary.
> 
> Finally, the sex in this story is not purely slash. Harry and Draco have their sexy times, but there are some heterosexual couples that have sex as well. Some of it is graphic and some of it is implied. I will try to alert you of any new tags added with each chapter so you can avoid your squicks, if you want.
> 
> I don't want to overload you with info or disclaim my own work too much, I just felt a need to be upfront about these things. Say My Name received such an amazing response on here and I am so, SO grateful. But I also want to challenge myself by writing something different. So this is not Say My Name 2.0. It has a different feel and a different structure. But it has the same characters, and I am letting myself go really in depth with them. So if you think that might be your thing, and if you're willing to trust me, I think you might just enjoy the ride. We shall see!

(Vesper)

“Oi, Little Kitty,” a familiar voice whispered behind her. “Psssst.”

There was a tap on Vesper’s shoulder but she ignored it, trying not to flinch at the touch. She heard the chair behind her squeak.

“Kitty, Kitty, Kitty.” The voice was closer now, only a few inches from her ear, and it made her shiver unpleasantly. Her hand tightened around her quill, but still she didn’t turn around. Instead she bent forward over her desk, focusing on the words in front of her.

_Name the three common ways to disguise one’s identity._

She knew this. She knew this one. She began writing out the answer: Polyjuice Potion, glamour spells, and… what was the third thing? It was right there in front of her, if only she could-

“Come on, Little Kitty. Don’t ignore me. I just want to know what you got for question 3.”

“Dempsey!” barked a voice, making the presence behind Vesper jump. “Eyes on your own parchment, or I’ll give you a zero for your very first day. You wouldn’t want that, now would you?”

Vesper smiled and looked up. Ron Weasley loomed over them, his muscular arms crossed over his broad chest, a dangerous glint in his blue eyes as he stared down at Chadwick Dempsey, the snot-nosed little shit who had been giving Vesper a hard time since she’d arrived at the Academy to begin her Auror training that morning.

Dempsey reminded her uncannily of Jack Hewett, a boy she’d known at Ilvermorny who used to toss little pieces of balled up parchment at the back of her head during Transfiguration. But they had been thirteen then, and now that she was an adult she’d thought she would never have to put up with his kind again. Apparently, though, some boys never grew out of being absolutely obnoxious.

“I’ve got my eye on you, Dempsey,” Ron went on. “This isn’t bloody First Year History of Magic. You have to actually pay attention.”

“Yes, sir,” Dempsey said, sounding chastened, though Vesper felt confident that the remorse was feigned.

She glanced up at Ron again and saw him give her a wink. She smiled gratefully and silently thanked whatever divine power had intervened to give her Ron Weasley as an instructor. It was nice to have a friend around here. Especially since so far the experience hadn’t been what she was expecting.

She was the only woman in the class, for one thing. This surprised her immensely, since she’d heard countless stories from Harry and Ron both about female Aurors they’d known over the years, particularly Nymphadora Tonks, little Teddy Lupin’s birth mother, who had been exceptional, by all accounts. Vesper had readily assumed that the Auror Corps would be an equal opportunity employer, since magical skill and pure nerve were much more important than physical strength when it came to success in this line of work.

But no, she was a lone woman among a sea of men. Not even men, really. _Boys_. Most of them were eighteen or nineteen, twenty at the oldest. There was only one other trainee who appeared to be around her age.

Not that she didn’t get along with those of the male persuasion. In fact, she usually had more in common with men than women, for the most part. But these were alpha male types, constantly preening and posturing and trying to outdo each other for how macho they could be. Dempsey had chosen to show his supposed “manliness” by giving Vesper a demeaning nickname within five minutes of meeting her. She could only assume that his thinking behind this was that by picking the “weakest” trainee among the group to torment, he would be less likely to have to endure any retaliation.

She couldn’t wait to show him what a huge mistake he’d made. Little Kitty had claws.

But now was not the time. They were still in the classroom portion of the day, much to Vesper’s chagrin. It wasn’t that she’d done poorly in school, but she’d always been more athlete than bookworm. She liked _doing_ things. She liked to move. She’d heard Auror training was physically demanding, and that’s what she was really looking for. If only the morning would go by just a little faster so she could get to that part.

“Five more minutes, everyone,” Ron warned the group from the front of the classroom, where he was watching everyone carefully.

 _Shit_. Vesper returned her attention to her parchment, deciding to skip the question about disguises and move onto something easier. She was able to fill in hurried answers to two more questions before Ron called time and collected all of their parchments with a non-verbal Summoning Charm.

“These will be graded this afternoon and your scores will be given to you by the end of the day,” Ron told the group. “Now, this little quiz was just the first of many, so if you failed, you didn’t fail out of the course just yet. But anything under a seventy percent, and you should be worried, because it doesn’t bode well for your future here. The tests will only get harder.” His eyes scanned the room, his face inscrutable. “We’ll take an hour for lunch. Make sure you eat. You’ll need your energy for the afternoon when we head into the training room.”

 _Finally_ , Vesper thought. An arena in which she could excel.

She began gathering her things and suddenly felt a presence beside her. Assuming it was Dempsey back to annoy her some more, she didn’t bother looking up. But then the presence spoke, and the voice was unfamiliar, soft, and a little musical.

“So, what _did_ you get for question 3, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She looked up into a face she knew by sight but not by name. He was olive skinned, with well-etched forehead lines and a strong jaw that seemed to sport a permanent five o’clock shadow. It was the older guy, the only other trainee that wasn’t practically fresh out of school. She stared at him.

“I’m just stumped, is all,” he went on. “I think I got the rest right, but that one really threw me for a loop. And I’m not about to ask one of these tossers about it.” He looked dismissively around the room for a moment, indicating the other trainees. “I thought you might know.”

Vesper hesitated, then wondered why. He was perfectly nice. She had no reason to be suspicious of him. Dempsey and his cohort just had her on edge, for some reason. She reached into her bag and pulled out _The Auror’s Handbook_ , the text they’d been given in preparation for the training course. She opened it to page 53 and handed it to him, pointing to the relevant paragraph.

He took it and read it to himself. “While in the field an Auror should always know his or her exact Apparition coordinates,” he quoted aloud, after a minute. “This allows for a speedy rescue from backup in times of distress.” He looked up at Vesper again. “That makes… complete and total sense.” He handed the handbook back to her.

“I know,” she said, stuffing it in her bag. “That’s why I remembered it.”

“Well good on you. You probably got a better score than I did.”

“I doubt it. I couldn’t remember the third thing we use to disguise ourselves.” She ticked off on her fingers. “Polyjuce, glamours, and…”

“ _Confundus_ ,” he filled in for her. “You don’t disguise yourself, really, you just confuse the people around you into thinking you’re someone else.”

“Right… _Confundus_.” Why hadn’t she remembered that?

“Hey, it’s no big deal. At least you got two out of three.” He was smiling at her, and she couldn’t help smiling back. “I’m Declan, by the way. Declan Ross.” He held out a hand.

She shook it. “Vesper Kemp.”

“You’re American.”

“Yep.”

“So that’s why I don’t recognize you. I figured if we went to Hogwarts together, I’d know you at least by face. It’s not that big a place.”

“Nope, no Hogwarts for me. Ilvermorny.”

He nodded. “I worked with a guy up until recently who went to Ilvermorny. Maybe you know him. Aaron Massey?”

She thought, then shook her head. “Doesn’t ring a bell. But Ilvermony’s a much bigger school than Hogwarts. What house was he in?”

“Horned Serpent, I think it was.”

“My older brother was Horned Serpent, so they probably crossed paths.”

“I see,” said Declan. “But that wasn’t your house.”

Vesper shook her head and grinned. “Nope. Thunderbird, all the way.”

“Ah, the adventurers, right?”

“You got it.”

“Sounds a bit like Gryffindor.”

Vesper made a deliberating noise. “Sort of. Like a mix of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, so I’ve heard. We like to do and see and know everything there is to do and see and know in the world.”

He laughed. “Sounds great.”

“Yeah, it’s the best house, hands down,” she said, noting the amused twinkle in his eye as he looked at her. “You’re a Gryffindor, I take it?”

His brow furrowed in surprise. “How’d you guess?”

She shrugged. “I can just tell.”

“Well, you’re right.”

“So you must know Ron pretty well then.” She cleared her throat suddenly. “Excuse me, I mean Auror Weasley,” she corrected with a knowing smile.

He laughed again. “Not all that well, actually. I was a few years above him in school. I knew the twins, Fred and George, a lot better.”

She nodded. She was acquainted with George, but she had never gotten the chance to meet Fred, of course.

“But you must know him pretty well then, if you’re on a first name basis,” Declan continued.

“Yeah, he’s a good friend.”

Declan was suddenly eyeing her carefully. “You’re one of the Contingent, then, aren’t you?”

Vesper resisted the urge to roll her eyes. The so-called Potter-Malfoy Contingent was what the press decided to dub the group of people that spent a great deal of social time with wizarding Britain’s most talked about couple. The group included, but was certainly not limited to, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Pansy Nott, née Parkinson, Theodore Nott, Hannah Abbott, Neville Longbottom, and her.

And Blaise Zabini, of course. But she tried not to think about him, if she could help it.

“We don’t really think of ourselves that way,” she said. “But yeah, I’m friends with them.” Whenever someone used that ridiculous moniker, she always got the unfamiliar feeling of being part of some exclusive club, someone with a reserved seat at the “cool kids’ table.” But that wasn't really how it was. It wasn’t exclusive. Harry and Draco weren’t like that. They were just good, friendly people who liked to spend time with other good, friendly people. Maybe it was the fact that she hadn’t grown up constantly hearing Harry Potter’s name, but this obsession with him and his partner and everything they did always struck her as odd. Yeah, Harry had saved the world and all, and Draco was an all-around awesome guy, but to her they were just Harry and Draco, her two closest friends on this side of the Atlantic. They were just… _people_.

She looked at Declan, hoping he wasn’t going to start treating her differently for some reason. But he just nodded and said, “That’s cool. Potter always seemed like a decent bloke to me.”

“He is,” Vesper said simply. “Anyway,” she pointed to the door, “I’m going to go grab some lunch from the food cart.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Declan said, stepping aside to let her pass. She was about to when he spoke again. “Listen,” he said, then paused. She waited. He scratched the back of his neck. “Would you… like to grab drinks tonight? Not like a date,” he said quickly, accurately reading the reluctant look on her face. “I just think… well, I could use a friend around here, and we old people have to stick together, with all these toddlers running around.”

That made Vesper laugh. “That sounds fun. I’m not dating right now, but I could use a friend too.” He smiled. “I can’t do it tonight, though. I have plans.” This was sort of true. She had promised Harry and Draco she would floo call them in the evening to tell them about her first day at the Academy, and she found she was really looking forward to it. That, and getting to be home on her own for a few hours. “Maybe later in the week?” she offered.

He nodded knowingly, and Vesper wondered if he thought she was blowing him off, and then wondered if that was exactly what she was doing. She didn’t always know, in the moment. “Yeah, all right. Cool.”

“Cool,” she replied, then took her leave with a soft smile.

At the food cart on the second floor she purchased a pastrami sandwich and a raspberry flavored fizzy water. Since the end of the war, Muggle carbonated beverages such as this had become more popular, and Vesper was thankful. She was a bit sick of pumpkin juice.

She looked over at the dessert tray and decided she deserved one. She asked for a cauldron cake, then had a sudden idea and ordered two.

She knew that most, if not all, of the other trainees were gathering in the designated rec room for lunch, where there were tables set up, encouraging them to get to know each other. Vesper didn’t feel much like heading there, though. Instead, she thought she’d track down Ron.

Thankfully she’d been to his office before, so she knew where it was, and thankfully he was there, and alone. There was a half-eaten roast beef sandwich and a bag of potato chips next to him, and he was looking over some papers while sipping on a butterbeer. It took her a moment to realize he was grading the trainees’ quizzes from that morning.

“Hey, catch,” she said from the doorway, and waited for him to look up and register her presence before she tossed a cauldron cake at him.

He caught it deftly and smiled. “Hey, thanks. What’s this for?”

“Apple for teacher,” Vesper joked, before realizing he might not get the reference. “Just wanted to say thanks, you know, for looking out for me with Dempsey earlier.”

“Just doing my job, Ves. No need to thank me. Not that I’ll say no to sweets, when they’re provided.”

She laughed. “Can I sit?”

“Sure.” He cleared some space off of his desk for her to place her lunch.

She sat down, then twisted the cap on her fizzy water, watching the bubbles rush to the top. She took a sip before saying, “I know you were doing your job. I’m just grateful. He was giving me shit all morning, but it seems like you’ve shut him up, at least for now.”

“Yeah, for now,” Ron echoed. “He’ll resume soon enough. I know his type.”

“Get a lot of those, huh?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” said Ron, popping a chip into his mouth. “Want some crisps?” he asked her suddenly, offering her the bag. She took one. “They’re not usually so determined to be arseholes as he is,” Ron went on, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands behind his head. “He seems a special case.”

Vesper nodded. “Yeah.”

“What was that bit he was doing, about calling you Little Kitty?”

Vesper gave him a look while she chewed on a bite of her sandwich. She swallowed, then replied. “I can’t be sure, but I have a feeling it’s an indirect reference to a certain part of my anatomy, if you catch my drift.”

Ron thought about that for a second or two, then made a face. “That’s pretty gross.”

“Yes, it is,” Vesper agreed. “I might be wrong, though. But what does it really matter?”

“If it’s any consolation, he could very well fail out. More than a third of you will, if the numbers hold as usual.”

“Really?”

Ron nodded. “Roughly a third don’t pass the course. Another third don’t make it past first year. Only a handful of you will make it to Senior Auror, three or four, probably.” He leaned forward in his chair and took another bite of his sandwich.

“I hadn’t realized that,” Vesper said. She wasn’t sure if she found the statistics comforting or worrisome.

“Turnover’s high,” Ron said between bites. “Most people aren’t up to the job. Why do you think we recruit so much? We don’t have enough positions to fill to keep on fifteen to twenty new recruits a year. But we have to start with that many, to weed out the weaklings. And we are always hurting for manpower.” He smirked. “It’s ironic, really. We’re a highly exclusive club that’s constantly in need of new members.”

Vesper smiled. “You made the cut, though,” she said.

Ron shrugged. “My class was different. It was only a year out from the war. There was a smaller recruitment pool, and there weren’t that many of us. And we’d all seen action of some kind. We were coming in a bit more prepared, and we understood the reality of violence.” He reached for his cauldron cake, opening the packaging. “Now, five years out… most of our recruits are old enough to remember the war, but not old enough to actually have fought in it. They don’t appreciate… they don’t understand the reality of it. They see it like a game, or something.”

“Little boys playing Cops and Robbers,” Vesper said. Ron furrowed his brow at her, confused. “It’s a game Muggle children play," she explained. "In the States, at least. I don’t know about here. But it’s a play pretend sort of thing.”

Ron nodded. “Yeah, something like that.” He took a bite of cake.

“So when they see what it’s really like, they bail?”

“Some of them,” said Ron. “Others step up when you least expect them to. People can surprise you.”

“Even people like Chadwick Dempsey?”

Ron looked at her, frowning. “Most likely not. But you never know.” They ate in silence for a minute.

“So, how’s desk duty treating you?” Vesper asked.

Ron shrugged again. “It’s all right. Could be worse. I’m glad I’m teaching, rather than stuck doing paperwork. And it’s only another four months.”

Vesper nodded. She knew the transition had been hard on him, at first. But she also knew that he was aware it was necessary. He’d received an injury in the field, a really bad one, and had nearly lost his left arm thanks to a curse from a criminal he and his partner had been tracking. Hermione had been especially distraught over it. Vesper was having dinner at Harry and Draco’s the night it happened, and was witness to Hermione’s frantic, tearful arrival by floo. It had shocked Vesper, because Hermione was usually so collected and reasonable. But she was shrieking and babbling that night, something about a flare-up of an old splinching wound that had happened during the war. She seemed to think it was her fault. Harry and Draco had gotten her to calm down, but it had taken some doing.

“There are a few upsides,” Ron was saying now, bringing Vesper’s attention back to the present. “I’m home pretty much every night, nowadays. Sometimes I even get there before Hermione, which never used to happen.”

“She must like that,” Vesper said.

“I sure hope so, otherwise I’m in trouble,” Ron said with a grin. “It’s no good having a wife who never wants you around.”

She smiled. Ah, yes. The wedding. “Speaking of which, how’s the planning going? Any progress?”

“Some,” Ron said. “It’s tough when you have two highly opinionated mothers in the mix. Everyone’s got an idea about how it should be.”

“Mm,” Vesper agreed vaguely. She knew a little something about having an opinionated mother-in-law. Well, not quite mother- _in_ - _law_ , really, since she and Blaise were never married. But still. It was close enough.

“My advice? Not that you’ve asked for it,” Ron qualified. “But my advice, if you ever decide to get married…? Elope. Save yourself the trouble.”

Vesper laughed. “Hermione would be all right with that?”

“At this point, maybe,” said Ron. “She pretty much only cared about the dress, and she found that early on. The rest… well, she was planning on leaving it up to our mothers so she wouldn’t have to spend her energy on it.”

“Yeah, she doesn’t really seem the type to obsess over flowers and color schemes and the rest of it,” Vesper observed.

“Why do you think I’m marrying her?” Ron said with another grin. Of course, Vesper knew better than to take the joke at face value. She had never seen a man more devoted to a woman than Ron Weasley was to Hermione Granger. “No,” he went on, wiping his hands on a napkin, “the real problem is now, instead of just handling the details ourselves, we have to handle our mothers, which is infinitely more difficult.”

Vesper nodded. “I can see how that would be harder.”

“And with our jobs and everything else…” He sighed. “Honestly, I’ll be glad when it’s over. I just want to be married. I really don’t see how one day is worth all this stress.”

Vesper took a sip of her drink, silently agreeing with him. Most women wouldn’t, she suspected. But then, she had never been most women.

“Anyway, what will be will be, on that front. I won’t bore you with the details.” He gave her a sly smile. “I’m sure you’d much rather talk about something more interesting, like what score you got on your quiz just now.”

“You have it already?” she asked, surprised.

Ron nodded. “I marked yours first.”

“Do I want to know?” She grimaced at the prospect, making Ron chuckle.

“Yes. You got a ninety-three. Not bad. You skipped one question, and I could only give you partial credit for the one about disguising your identity. But you got the rest right.”

Vesper absorbed that. “Could be better, though.”

“Yes, but could be much, much worse. And you know the academic portion is only one part of your overall marks. The physical fitness and field training portions make up two thirds of your total score, and you’ll have no problem with those.”

“Did I do better than Dempsey, at least?”

He gave her a mildly admonishing look. “I haven’t scored his yet. But even if I had, you know full well I couldn’t share it with you.”

“Oh come on, Teach,” Vesper said in jest. “Don’t I get any special treatment?”

He laughed and shook his head. “No. Mainly because you don’t need it. You’ll be great. It’s these other clowns I’ve got to keep in line.”

Vesper sat back in her chair and nodded.

“And I will keep them in line, I promise,” Ron said, his expression sobering. “Sexist, harassing behavior isn’t tolerated here. We expect professionalism, and I’ll make sure Dempsey realizes that.”

“Thanks,” Vesper said, feeling a bit better. “If he doesn’t shape up in that department, will it affect his score?” she added hopefully.

“A part of the grade will include overall conduct throughout the course, so I will factor it in, if necessary.”

“Good.”

“I do have some advice, though, on that front. I’m not sure you want to hear it, but…” He trailed off, his eyebrows raised in a question.

“Sure, go ahead,” she said with a sigh.

“I know they’re a bunch of right prats, but it might not hurt for you to make an effort anyway. You may end up working with a few of them, so it would be better if you could get along. Use some of that natural charm of yours, get them on your side.”

Vesper snorted. Everyone always thought she had natural charm, something she had never fully understood. “What if I don’t want them on my side?”

“I understand the feeling,” Ron said gently. “But, keep in mind they may not always be like that. This job… it changes you. It makes you grow up. Most of those guys, they won’t be like that forever.”

Vesper nodded, taking that in. Ron had a point. Some of those boys just had more growing up to do. Still, did that mean she really wanted to make nice with the likes of Chadwick Dempsey? “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.

“Good,” Ron replied.

They finished their lunch with more pleasant small talk, until eventually it was time for Vesper to get ready for the afternoon portion of the day. She changed in the women’s locker room into her usual workout clothes: tight fitting lycra pants, a sports bra, and a matching top. It was what she always wore in the days of her training as a professional duelist, because it allowed her coach to see every aspect of her form and make corrections. Yes, in competitions she did duel in robes, like everyone else, but she didn’t rest on her laurels, and the way such clothing could hide poor technique. She strove for perfection, always.

She entered the training room to see that she wasn’t the only trainee to be sporting more Muggle-oriented workout gear. Still, being the only woman, her outfit was by far the tightest. Every man she passed looked in her direction, and she felt their eyes on her like little insects crawling across her skin. Why did she feel like this? It had never been this way during dueling training.

 _Whatever,_ she told herself. In ten minutes time she’d be showing them what she could do, and leaving them in the dust. Then they’d forget she was a woman and realize she was the one who was going to outdo them all.

She spotted Declan across the room and gave him a smile and a wave as she limbered up, bouncing on the balls of her feet to get warm, then stretching her arms, back, and legs.

“Sweet Merlin, would you look at that arse,” said a voice behind her, a couple of yards away. It wasn’t Dempsey, she knew that much, but he had the same vulgar tone.

There was some snickering, which she did her best to ignore as she cracked her neck and shook out her shoulders.

“Juicy,” said another. Definitely Dempsey, this time. She was sure. “The kind you can bounce sickles off of.”

She clenched her jaw as she clasped her hands and stretched them behind her back.

“That’s not the only thing I’d bounce off it, if you know what I mean,” a third voice contributed.

 _Ignore them_. _They’re just compensating for their tiny dicks and the fact that they’ve never been laid,_ she told herself, to make herself feel better. It didn’t work.

Men were visual creatures. She knew this. They ogled; they gawked; they drooled. She didn’t usually mind so much, honestly. But she expected them to keep it to themselves, and she certainly expected them to keep it under control in a workplace environment.

She had options. She knew that. She had choices. She could move away. She could stand in the corner of the room and deny them a view of her “juicy” butt. Or she could take Ron’s advice, and find a way to ingratiate herself, undermine their expectations of her.

But how would she do that? How could she make them like her? Was she supposed to just bend over for them and let their imaginations run wild? The thought made her sick.

Ron’s advice wasn’t bad. It made a lot of sense. She would have to work with some of those guys, in all likelihood, and it would be better if they liked her. If they knew her, they might even learn to respect her.

But Ron didn’t know this feeling. He didn’t know what it was like to be salivated over like meat at a market. He didn’t know what it was like to be automatically rendered “less than” simply for sporting breasts and a vagina.

So instead she made a different choice, the only one she could live with. Instead she twisted around, just enough so that they could see her face. And she looked at them, the men clustered behind her so they could get a good view of her ass. She looked at them, and narrowed her eyes just a little. And then she smiled. That small, dangerous smile she gave all of her opponents before she took them out.

She was gratified to see Dempsey’s smirk falter. It was only a second, but she had caught it, and she knew what it meant.

 _That’s right, little boy_ , she thought at him, knowing, somehow, that he could understand her. _You should be scared. Because this is the part where I kick your ass._


	2. Playground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday, loves! It makes me incredibly happy to have a regular posting schedule again. I so appreciate all the comments and excitement I have already received for this sequel! I hope I can do it all justice...
> 
> It's going to take a couple more chapters before all of the major plot points are in place, but here is a glimpse into Harry's life. We've got some exposition, some fluff, a little drop of angst, and then some Drarry smut. Just because I can :)
> 
> Let me know what you think! <3

(Harry)

Draco had wandering hands.

This would not bother Harry in most situations. Quite the contrary. Usually, so long as they were alone, he welcomed Draco grabbing, stroking, or fondling any part of his body he wanted to. But right now, he was _supposed_ to behave.

“Draco…” Harry said in a warning, for about the tenth time.

Draco, unsurprisingly, did not heed the warning, his fingers continuing to stroke the sensitive skin under the waistband of Harry’s pants. “Mmm, what?”

Harry grabbed the offending hand, pulling it out of his pants and placing it on his chest. “Can’t you just wait a little longer?”

Draco adjusted himself against Harry with a huff. “No.”

“She’ll call any minute. It’s nearly eight.” They were snuggling on one of the sofas in the sitting room together, near the floo, waiting for the chime that would indicate Vesper’s call. Normally such an appointment wouldn’t be so important, but it had been Vesper’s first day at the Auror Academy and Harry and Draco both were a bit nervous about how it had gone for her.

“Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for you?” Draco asked, not bothering to keep the impatience out of his voice.

“Well, considering you’ve been home since eight o’clock this morning, I’d say it’s been about twelve hours.” Yes, Draco had had to be patient, waiting for Harry to get home from work, waiting for Harry to finish up some notes that had to go out to a solicitor first thing in the morning, waiting for Harry to cook dinner. And, now, waiting for Vesper to call. But really, it was only half a day. He arched a brow at Draco. “Twelve hours is nothing.”

Draco scoffed. “You’re not counting the sixty hours I spent at work before that. That’s a total of seventy-two hours, _three whole days_ , since I’ve had a shag.”

Harry chuckled. “And you’re saying you can’t wait another half hour?”

“Not with your fit body pressed against me, that’s for sure. I mean, really…” His hand moved across Harry’s chest, teasing a nipple through the soft fabric of his t-shirt before descending lower, down his stomach and towards the edge of his trousers once again. “How am I supposed to resist this?”

Harry moaned involuntarily as his cock, already semi-hard from Draco’s previous ministrations, throbbed in excitement. He was losing this battle, that much was clear. After all, it had been three whole days for him, too.

“I’m not going to be caught shagging when Vesper calls,” Harry said, trying to sound reasonable, though the activities of Draco’s hand were making his voice throaty with want. “That’s just rude.”

“I know, Harry, but I can’t help it,” Draco said in his ear, his deft fingers finally finding their mark and wrapping around it gently. “I need your perfect cock.” He stroked upwards, making Harry buck. “I need it inside me, filling me, pounding into me.”

“Fuck,” Harry replied as Draco continued to stroke him. He wanted to be amused by Draco's blatant attempt at seduction, but the sweet pull of that hand made his head dizzy, clouding his judgment. How was it possible that Draco could still do this to him?

“I’ll be such a good boy, Harry,” Draco went on, panting against Harry’s neck. “I’ll take all of it. I’ll be so good.” His grip tightened, and Harry cursed again.

 _Maybe just a quick one_ , a voice in his head suggested. _Five minutes at the most_. They might manage to both climax before Vesper’s call, if they were efficient about it.

His cock was leaking precum profusely at the prospect, and he groaned as Draco swirled his thumb around the head, making Harry rock hard and ready.

The floo chimed.

“I’ll get it!” Draco proclaimed cheerfully, removing the hand from Harry’s pants and jumping up from the sofa.

 _Merlin’s bollocks,_ Harry thought as he remained prostrate on the sofa, his needy, bereft erection screaming in protest.

“You are an evil bastard,” he said aloud, and Draco chuckled before pulling on the lever by the hearth to let Vesper’s call through.

Her head and torso immediately appeared in the fireplace. “Hi!” she said.

“Hey, Ves,” Draco replied, and Harry could hear the grin in his voice. “How was your first day?”

“It was… eventful,” Vesper replied with a smirk. “I’ll tell you all about it. Where’s Harry?” Her head moved from side to side, seeking him out.

Draco looked behind him, giving Harry a wicked smile. “Just give him a minute. He’s recovering.”

“Recovering from what?” Vesper asked, before cottoning on. Her face split into a wide grin. “Were you two fooling around while you were waiting for me? Naughty boys.” Her suggestive tone made Draco chuckle and Harry roll his eyes.

“A gentleman never tells,” Draco said.

“Mm, shame you’re such a gentleman, then,” said Vesper.

“Yes, it really is.”

Harry sighed from the sofa, annoyed. The other two ignored him.

“So, then, while we’re waiting, how are things? How’s the hospital?” Vesper asked.

“Busy,” said Draco. “As usual. I just spent about sixty hours there, all told.”

“Are you kidding me? I thought they weren’t going to make you work like that after your first year.”

“I don't end up stacking shifts like that too often anymore. Only sometimes,” Draco replied. “And next year I probably won't have to very much at all."

"Still," the witch said. "It's insane hours they're putting you through."

"Only for a couple more years. When I make Senior Healer, things will be a lot easier.”

That was a sentence Harry had become intimately familiar with. It was practically Draco’s mantra, by this point. He had tried to prepare Harry, help him understand how intense these years of Draco’s Healing education would be. It was a good thing, because otherwise Harry would have been completely blindsided by the constant studying and all-night essay writing during Healing school, not to mention the shockingly and (in his opinion) unjustifiably long work hours once Draco began his residency at St. Mungo’s.

Still, all that preparation couldn’t fully capture the reality of how hard Draco had to work. Harry worried about it, sometimes, convinced that Draco would burn out halfway through.

But Draco took it all in stride, knowing he had to pay his dues, do the grunt work that the Senior Healers and higher-year residents didn’t want to do. “I’ve done the hardest part already,” Draco would say to him, whenever Harry became convinced that it was becoming too much. “It gets easier and easier, I promise.”

And, Draco would always remind him, there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Once he became a Senior Healer he would be able to make his own schedule, meaning he could be home most nights and weekends, save for the nights he was on call and there was some sort of emergency. It would be much more manageable, and much more in line with Harry’s nine to five work schedule.

That was when they would get married, they decided. That was when the next stage of their life would start. That was when they could start talking about having children. Because things would be so much easier then.

It made sense. It was a good plan. Yet Harry couldn’t help but feel, sometimes, that they were in a sort of holding pattern, stationary, always watching the countdown clock, waiting for the signal to move forward.

_Only two years and ten months to go._

They had been together nearly five years already. In other circumstances, marriage would likely already be a part of the conversation. Hell, it already was for Hermione and Ron, and it had been for Blaise and Vesper before… well, before whatever it was that broke them up. Not that he knew what that was.

Then, of course, Harry would remember that they were only twenty-three, that they had plenty of time to take all the next steps there were to take, and that he had a wealth of things to enjoy about the present. He loved his job; he had plenty of free time to see his godson Teddy, not to mention all of his friends. And when Draco was home, it was so good. It was still like it had been in the beginning, only deeper.

In truth, he had nothing to complain about.

Having gotten lost in his own thoughts, he found his erection had finally subsided. He hauled himself off the sofa to join Draco in front of the floo, listening back in to their conversation.

“I still get to sleep nights while I’m on shift, you know,” Draco was saying now, no doubt in response to some concern Vesper had expressed about him not getting enough rest. “So long as there isn’t an emergency with a patient.”

“If you say so…” Vesper said, trailing off. She spotted Harry has he came into view. “There you are! So… was it any good at least?” That lascivious grin was back.

“Draco doesn’t always finish what he starts, let’s put it that way,” Harry said, making the other two laugh. “Really, though,” he said, wanting to move off that topic quickly and save himself more embarrassment. “How was it today?”

“It was fine,” Vesper said with forced lightness.

“Uh-oh,” said Harry, recognizing that tone immediately. “What happened?”

Vesper sighed. “Nothing really, I promise. It’s just this little shit-for-brains that’s in my class who’s giving me a hard time. He’s a baby, all of nineteen, I think, but he acts like he’s about twelve. Not even a good, sweet twelve, you know? More the snotty, superior, taunts-you-while-no-one’s-looking type. You know what I’m talking about?”

Harry cast a sidelong glance at Draco. “Yes, I’ve been witness to such behavior before.”

Draco gave him a darkly amused look but said nothing.

“Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” Harry said. “I hope he’s not ruining things for you too much.”

Vesper waved a hand dismissively. “It’s no big deal. He’s harmless. I showed him up pretty thoroughly during physical training today, and he even got to see me duel, so I think I’ve intimidated him into submission for now. But I do look forward to the day I get to duel him myself.”

“I’d avoid dishing out too much public humiliation, though,” Draco said. “If he’s anything like I was in school, it will only make him meaner.”

Harry ran a hand across Draco’s back and gave him a warm smile. He liked how dispassionately Draco was able to talk about his past mistakes. It showed just how thoroughly he had moved on.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Vesper said. “Though it’s pretty damn tempting anyway, I have to tell you.”

Harry chuckled, finding that sentiment easy to relate to. “Ron will look out for you, too, though. He won’t tolerate that sort of thing for long.”

“No, he won’t,” Vesper said with a smile. “He yelled at Dempsey at least three times today. That put me in a better mood.” Her expression sobered. “It’s just tough, is all. I’m the only woman, amazingly, and most of the guys are just… I don’t know. They’re not really my kind of people, you know?”

“There’s got to be someone you connect with,” said Draco, “ _someone_ who’s tolerable. After all, you’re you. Since when do you not get on with people?”

“Since they decided to put all of the douchebags in one training class together,” said Vesper. She sighed. “There is one guy… he’s older than the rest. His name’s Declan Ross. He was a Gryffindor, Harry, so you might know him.”

“I recognize the name…” Harry said, after some thought.

“He might have been George Weasley’s year,” Vesper offered.

“The one above it, I think. I vaguely remember him.”

“Well, anyway, he seems pretty cool. Just met him obviously, so we’ll see. He did invite me for drinks sometime this week, and I’m thinking I’ll probably take him up on it.”

She must have seen something in both of their faces, something they weren’t even conscious of, because she scoffed and said, “Oh come on, guys, it’s not like a date or anything. Don’t give me that look.”

“What look?” asked Harry.

“I know what you’re thinking.”

“And what are we thinking?” Draco asked with the arch of a brow.

“You want Blaise and me to get back together.”

Now Harry and Draco really did exchange a look. Draco turned back to Vesper.

“We don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, Ves. You know that. We aren’t taking sides.”

“I know you’re not. That’s not what I meant.” She took a calming breath. “It’s just going to be drinks. That’s all it is. I already told him I’m not dating right now, so he has no expectations.”

“If you want to date someone else, we don’t care,” said Harry. “You can do whatever you want.”

“It’s _not_ a date.”

“It _could_ be, though. It might be good for you, actually,” Draco said, and Harry turned to look at him. He had a feeling he knew what was coming next, and he wasn’t so sure it was a good idea. “I mean, it’s been four months, and Blaise…” He trailed off, perhaps regretting what he was about to say, but it was no use. Vesper was looking at him sharply.

“Blaise what?”

Harry suppressed a sigh and looked at the floor.

“Well…” Draco plowed on, scratching behind an ear nervously. “I’ve just found out that… that Blaise is taking…” He cleared his throat. “Blaise is taking Daphne Greengrass to the DTF Gala this weekend.”

Harry risked a glance at Vesper, and saw that she was absorbing that impassively. “All right, well… what did you expect? It’s not like he was going to take me. And he wouldn’t go alone.”

She was right, of course, but it must have still stung, Harry was sure. The Diaphone Thickett Foundation, which Harry worked for, threw a gala at the start of September every year for its donors (and, of course, to drum up more donations for the coming year). Blaise had started donating to the Foundation since he and Theo Nott had gotten their business off the ground, for which Harry was quite grateful. For the past three years, Harry, Draco, Theo, Pansy, Blaise, and Vesper had all attended together. It was quite fun, and had become a tradition of sorts. Knowing that Vesper wasn’t going to be there was a strange thing for Harry to contemplate, so he could only imagine what it would feel like for her.

“Daphne’s a good choice, anyway,” Vesper went on. “She was a Slytherin, right? She’ll fit right in.”

Her voice was almost normal. She almost seemed completely unfazed. To the untrained observer, she would be. But Harry knew better. For all her talk of wanting to be transparent and honest in most situations, Vesper had a particular aversion to appearing vulnerable in any way. Harry and Draco both had a tendency to cover their more uncomfortable feelings at times, but they had nothing on her. Vesper was the queen of the brave face, using jokes and a smile as misdirection so you wouldn’t be able to see what was underneath.

“Vesper…” Draco began.

“It’s fine, honestly,” she said, looking from one to the other. “Like you said, it’s been four months, and it’s healthy to… Look, we both have to move on, and if this is how he chooses to do it, who am I to say he shouldn’t? I make my own choices; he makes his. That’s how it’s supposed to work.”

“It’s all right to be upset anyway, Ves,” Harry said. “It’s natural.”

“I won’t deny that I’m disappointed not to go,” she said reasonably. “But I wasn’t expecting to anyway, so it’s no skin off my nose.”

Harry and Draco sat there, looking at her. What could they say? Harry was hardly about to push her on the issue. And yet nor could he believe that she was simply fine.

 _I just wish I knew what happened_.

They all did: Harry, Draco, Pansy, Theo, Hermione, Ron… they all wanted to know. But neither Blaise nor Vesper ever said what it was that had broken them up. Just one day, they were over. They never even indicated who had ended it. It was just… finished.

Harry looked over at Draco, whose face was etched in concern. Sometimes, though Harry had no proof, he thought Draco might know more about it than he let on. It was just a look he got in his eyes when they discussed the breakup. But he never said a word about it, and Harry never asked. He readily assumed Blaise had told Draco something and then made him promise not to tell, and Harry couldn’t begrudge Draco that. He himself kept secrets for Ron and Hermione both. They weren’t his to give away.

Still, in moments like these, he wished he knew. Then he might know the right thing to say.

“Ok, stop looking at me like that, you two,” Vesper said, and Harry could hear the beginnings of anger in her voice. “I’m handling it, all right?”

Harry took a deep breath, then nodded. “Yeah, all right.” He heard Draco murmur the same beside him.

“Don’t you want to hear more about my day?” Vesper asked them.

They indicated that they did, and she told them. She told them about score she got on her first quiz, how she had outstripped most of the boys on their five kilometer run that afternoon, and all the new spells she would be allowed to use in dueling as an Auror that she had never gotten to really practice before, because they were against regulations in competition.

Harry and Draco met her positivity with encouragement and made a point of not mentioning Blaise again. Still, the information Draco had shared hung over the conversation, so much so that Harry was relieved that it was over, simply so he didn’t have to keep nodding emphatically and smiling just to keep up with Vesper’s determination to be chipper. It was painful, not because he didn’t want to encourage her, of course, but because he knew she was in pain, and he was powerless to help her.

When she bid them goodnight and disappeared from the fireplace, Harry and Draco sat there in silence for a minute or two, both lost in their own thoughts. Then Harry shook himself and stood, making his way back to the sofa again.

Draco remained sitting on the floor for a moment longer, and Harry watched his back and wondered what he was thinking.

“Are you annoyed with me?” Draco asked after a moment. The blond craned his neck to look at Harry.

Harry looked at him, confused. “Why would I be annoyed with you?”

Draco stood. “Because you said you didn’t think it was a good idea to tell her about Blaise, at least not right now, and you were obviously right.”

Harry sighed, staring up at Draco as Draco stood looking at him. “I did think that before, but now I’m not so sure. I mean, it did upset her, but… she would have found out anyway, don’t you think? Better she hear it from us.”

Draco nodded. “I just didn’t want her to see photographs of them together in the society pages, or something. That would have been worse, I think.”

Harry resisted the urge to remind him that Vesper was hardly the type to read the society pages of the _Daily Prophet_ , because that wasn’t really the point. Blaise was well-known enough by that point (in fact, he and Vesper both were, since they spent a great deal of time with Harry and Draco, and Vesper was a dueling champion and Blaise a successful businessman), that there would likely be some commentary and word-of-mouth gossip about the fact he was taking a woman from a prominent pureblood family to the gala, rather than the American daughter of Muggleborns that he had been attached to unwaveringly for the past three or so years. The news would come back to Vesper, one way or another.

He looked up into Draco’s face and saw unmistakable guilt written there. “You did what you thought was best, love. You shouldn’t feel guilty about it.”

Draco shrugged. “She needed to know, but at the same time… I don’t know, perhaps telling her the way I did… Do you think I made it sound like a bigger deal than it is?” He was rubbing a thumb over the palm of his other hand, a nervous gesture of his that Harry recognized immediately.

Harry furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean I don’t really know Blaise’s intentions regarding taking Daphne to the gala. You know, whether it’s just for fun, or if they’re dating now… I don’t know how serious he is about her.”

“He hasn’t told you?” This surprised Harry quite a bit. Blaise, as far as he knew, shared just about everything with Draco, especially when it came to his love life.

“He’s not telling me much of anything, these days,” Draco said sadly. “I don’t really know… I’m at a bit of a loss, I suppose.”

Draco seemed so tired all of a sudden, like he was wearing the sixty hours he had just spent at the hospital on his shoulders. Harry opened his arms automatically. “Come here.”

Draco looked at him for a second, then complied, approaching him slowly, his face blank. He clambered onto the sofa, finally, straddling Harry and putting his arms around Harry’s neck. Harry ran his palms up Draco’s back, kneading a little, watching as Draco closed his eyes.

He’d had it in mind to come up with some sort of fun and creative punishment for Draco’s merciless cock-teasing earlier, but it was clear he would have to save that for another time. Draco needed something else.

He buried his face in Draco’s neck, nuzzling him, placing his lips on Draco’s pulse point, flitting his tongue out to taste that tender, pale skin. Draco let out a sound somewhere between a sigh and a groan, tilting his head to give Harry better access. Harry took advantage, kissing, licking, and sucking his way up Draco’s neck.

He began inching up the bottom of Draco’s t-shirt, and Draco took the hint and raised his arms, allowing Harry to pull the shirt off over his head. With Draco’s chest exposed, Harry could venture into new areas, some of his absolute favorites. His lips skimmed Draco’s prominent collarbone, his tongue licked along the jagged _sectumsempra_ scar, until, finally, with Draco panting and gasping, he took a pebbled nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. All the while his hands worked, stroking lightly up and down Draco’s back and over his ribs. He heard Draco stifle a groan, and felt Draco’s erection get harder and harder against his stomach.

“What do you want, Draco?” Harry asked softly. “What do you need?”

“You,” Draco replied, his voice equally quiet, “like this. Just like this.” He kissed Harry, slow and deep, and Harry matched him, moaning as Draco ground against him automatically.

Fully hard now, Harry reached for his wand from the table next to the sofa and instantly vanished their clothing. He gasped in pleasure at the sudden skin-on-skin contact and opened his eyes to see Draco staring at him with a small smile.

“Like this?” Harry asked, returning the smile with one of his own as he bucked up a little, rutting their cocks together. A hand ventured down Draco’s spine, seeking out Draco’s entrance. “Are you going to ride me, Draco? Are you going to ride my cock?” He conjured lube with his wand, coating his fingers, and let two slip inside Draco’s waiting channel. All the while he looked into Draco’s face, watching his reaction, waiting for a reply.

Draco bit his lip and closed his eyes again. “Yes,” he managed, after a few seconds, as Harry began scissoring his fingers, stretching Draco just that little bit more that he needed.

When Draco felt ready, Harry pulled his fingers out, his mouth going to Draco’s neck again. Draco rose up, positioning himself over Harry’s cock, and then he sank down, engulfing Harry in that tight heat he could never get enough of.

“ _Draco_ ,” Harry moaned, as he felt the muscles squeeze him deliciously. “Yes. Ride me.”

Draco didn’t need telling twice. He lifted and then lowered himself again, taking Harry even deeper this time, and Harry threw his head back, reveling in the feeling of being consumed. He loved this. They didn’t do it this way often, because Draco liked conceding control to Harry, and Harry liked it that way, too. But this was so close, so intimate, chest-to-chest, so many of Draco’s hotspots so easily accessible to him. And the way Draco looked, pleasuring himself on Harry’s cock… there was simply nothing like it. There was nothing so beautiful in the world as that.

Draco repositioned his legs, digging his heels into Harry’s hips for purchase as he picked up the pace. Harry held onto Draco, thrusting up a little too to match him, to go just a little deeper. Draco let out a cry as he found the angle that hit his own prostate, and Harry moaned with him, loving the sound.

His orgasm was beginning to build, and he noticed that Draco was starting to tremble, a sign that he too would soon come. He reached for Draco’s cock, but was rebuffed when his hand was knocked away.

“No, let me,” Draco gasped, meeting Harry’s eyes. “I’m so close.”

“Yes,” Harry said, understanding. Sometimes, in the right position, Draco could come without touching his erection. It was an acquired skill, and Draco loved it when he could manage it, because the orgasm was so intense. Harry loved it, too, for Draco’s sake, but also because there was something incredibly erotic about watching Draco come thanks to Harry’s cock alone.

Draco’s mouth was open and his eyes squeezed shut in concentration, and Harry watched him in awe, loving the feel of Draco’s hips rolling against him, praying he could hold out until Draco could find his release.

“Fuck, Harry!” Draco cried suddenly, and Harry knew they were there a moment before it happened. Draco shouted Harry’s name again, and spasmed, and came. That was enough for Harry, and he climaxed with delicious intensity, filling Draco with cum as he moaned Draco’s name in return.

When the aftershocks of their orgasms subsided, Draco collapsed onto Harry, his forehead resting on Harry’s shoulder. Harry felt himself slip out of Draco, and found his wand again to perform a cleansing spell. Then he wrapped his arms around Draco again, stroking the sweaty skin of his back soothingly.

They remained that way for a while, Harry enjoying the feel of Draco’s weight on him. Draco was undoubtedly worn out, and Harry wondered for a moment if he would fall asleep on Harry then and there.

“You tired?” he asked the blond. Draco nodded against his neck. “Maybe you should go on to bed.”

Draco lifted his head to look at Harry. “Are you coming too?”

Harry smiled. “Soon. It’s a little early yet for me, and I have a couple more things I have to do. But you've been at work so long, and I know you probably avoided sleeping before I got home.” Draco didn’t like sleeping during the day, even when he needed it. He said it threw off his sleep cycle too much.

“I don’t want to go to bed without you.” Draco buried his face in Harry’s neck again, and Harry chuckled. He sounded a bit like Teddy did when he wasn’t quite ready for his bath. It was a tone Harry had become familiar with, since Teddy stayed overnight at Grimmauld a couple of times a month, to give Andromeda a break on occasion. Draco must be really tired, if he was sounding like that.

“I’ll be up soon,” Harry said. “And besides, we have tomorrow evening together too, right?” One nice thing about Draco working back-to-back shifts at the hospital was that it meant Draco had more time off afterwards. He felt Draco nod again. “So we’ll just relax and do nothing, then. I’ll bring home some takeaway when I get off work, whatever you like. And we’ll lounge, and watch some telly, and have as much sex as you want.”

Draco hummed in appreciation. “That sounds perfect.”

Harry chuckled again. “I thought so.”

Draco still didn’t move, and Harry waited patiently. Finally he sighed, lifting himself off of Harry, giving a stretch. Harry watched appreciatively, and Draco smirked down at him.

“Go to bed, Draco,” Harry said warmly but firmly. “You need the rest.”

“Very well,” Draco said with a sigh. “But I won’t fall asleep until you’re there anyway.”

“We’ll see,” said Harry. Sometimes that was true, but not always.

Draco turned, and Harry relished the view of Draco’s glorious arse as he started walking away. As if he could sense the gaze, Draco turned, looking back at Harry with a smug smile on his face. Harry grinned back at him, amused that, even completely naked, even after three days of hardly sleeping, his boyfriend still managed to put some swagger in his step.

No, Harry really had nothing to complain about at all.


	3. A Situation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco's first chapter is here!! I was very excited to finally get to write from his perspective for this AU, and he ends up having some of my favorite moments in the fic in later chapters too. Hope you like how he begins :)
> 
> Your comments have been amazing and very motivating, so thank you to everyone who has taken the time! I finished another chapter this weekend, thanks to you, and I'm ready to keep going! Couldn't have done it without you <3

(Draco)

Draco disabled the alarm on his wand at the first threat of noise, a habit he’d gotten very good at over the past year. If he managed it before the alarm really got going, he could usually avoid waking the dark-haired man sleeping soundly next to him.

He rolled onto his back, blinking away sleep and unwilling to get up quite yet. He rubbed his eyes, stretched a bit, yawned, wiggled into the mattress, flexed his toes, cracked his neck, and wondered what else he could think of doing to keep from actually getting out of bed. He had never learned to enjoy waking up, despite his chosen profession and the need to be up and about at a moment’s notice.

Harry, on the other hand, had always been good at mornings. In the first year of their living together, when Draco was still completing his Potions mastery and didn’t usually have to be up first thing in the morning, Harry always beat him out of bed, and there was usually a nice hot plate of breakfast and a pot of tea waiting for Draco when he finally made his way downstairs.

But things were different now. Draco glanced over at his live-in boyfriend, appreciating the way his shaggy raven hair draped lovingly over the part of his face that wasn’t buried in the pillow, the way his lean body curled in on itself a little, lying on his stomach as he was, his hands tucked under his pillow and out of sight. How easy it would be for Draco to roll over and burrow himself into that warmth, to breathe in the familiar musk, to put his hands on the scarred skin that he had memorized every inch of over the past four and a half years. It was so tempting.

But he had to get up for work, and Harry didn’t have to be up for another hour. It was ironic, really. Or maybe just a bit unfair.

With an inaudible sigh Draco quietly and carefully extricated himself from the bed. Harry groaned but didn’t wake, and Draco smiled to himself and made for their en suite bathroom.

It was always better after a shower, and this morning was no exception. Now dressed, Draco set about preparing his breakfast, enjoying the quiet of the house. He heated a skillet on the range and set three strips of bacon to cook before putting boiling water on for his tea and porridge. Though Harry had told him he could always make the porridge in the microwave, Draco found it very hard to get used to the idea. He still didn’t quite trust it to cook the hot cereal properly.

Draco had not always had to prepare his own breakfast. When their house elf, Kreacher, was still alive, he had insisted on preparing breakfast for him, so long as Harry hadn’t already beaten him to it. But Kreacher had died not quite a year ago, and they’d never gotten themselves another elf, mainly due to the fact that Harry did not want to incur Hermione’s wrath (And, if Draco was honest with himself, he wanted to avoid ire from the brunette as well. They’d never hear the end of it).

So Draco had to learn to cook (breakfast, at least), and he had halfway managed it. He could fry bacon without burning the house down, and he could handle anything that involved boiling water. Eggs were another issue, though. He had never figured out how Harry made them so fluffy when he scrambled them. (“Low heat,” he could hear Harry insist in his mind. “You have to cook them _slowly_.”) But Draco had never gotten the hang of it. Which meant no eggs for breakfast, most days.

But it didn’t matter. Draco was content to eat his bacon and his oat porridge with berries, and sip his black tea, and read that morning’s edition of the _Daily Prophet_ in silence. In a short half hour he would be surrounded by people who all needed something from him, and he had learned to savor solitude when he had it.

When he finished he cleaned up quickly, then made his way upstairs to say goodbye to Harry, as he always did before he left the house. It had become tradition, by this point.

He found his boyfriend mostly awake, and he smiled to himself, knowing that Harry had been waiting for him before he got out of bed. Draco sat on the edge, within arm’s reach of the other man, a warm glow of affection alight in his stomach as he looked down at the brunet. Harry looked back up at him with half-lidded green eyes and a sleepy smile, unaware, as always, of how effortlessly handsome he was, all roguish and tousled.

“Heading out?” he asked, his voice still a little rough from sleep. The sound of it did something to Draco, a kind of sweet, tugging ache in his navel, even after five years, and he bent down to give Harry a kiss. It was returned lazily. “How long?” Harry asked, once Draco pulled away.

Draco smiled. Harry asked the same question every time. He could never keep track of Draco’s schedule. Granted, the schedule _was_ quite inconsistent, so Draco couldn’t exactly blame him. “Thirty-six hours,” he said, “so I’ll be home a little after eight tomorrow night.”

“I’ll make a late dinner for us, then,” Harry said. “How about chicken piccata? You liked that last time.”

“Sounds great,” Draco said. He kissed Harry again. “I love you.”

“Mm, love you too,” Harry replied.

Draco lingered there for a moment, looking at him. Sometimes he would be so in his own head, so stuck in the stress of his job or the myriad of other things he had to concern himself with, that he forgot what a miracle his relationship with Harry was. But it didn’t take much to remind him, so he never forgot for long.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t sit there all day thinking about it. He had to head to the floo, and Harry was most likely going to hop in the shower and begin his own day. So with a final kiss and a murmured goodbye Draco stood, already mentally preparing himself for the thirty-six hours ahead of him.

He arrived at St. Mungo’s with five minutes to spare to change into his Healer robes before he had to go on rounds. He made his way purposefully to the coed locker room that was shared by all the residents and was pleasantly surprised to see Hannah Abbott at her locker, which was right across from his. She was shirtless, though still in a bra, performing some freshening charms on herself. Draco hardly noticed her bare torso, however. Residents were constantly in and out, changing, freshening up, and trying to clean various bodily fluids off of their robes (blood, it turned out, was particularly difficult to _scourgify_ ) as they prepared for the next portion of their shift. He had seen pretty much all of them in various states of undress at one point or another. Besides which, breasts did absolutely nothing for him, in the sexual interest department.

He was just always happy to see Hannah. She was by far his best friend at the hospital. He’d gotten to know her a bit their eighthyear of Hogwarts, since Hannah and Pansy were such good friends, but it wasn’t until Healing school that they’d really become friends in their own right. They bonded over the immense and challenging workload, and helped each other in various ways during those two years. Hannah, a Charms master, had provided excellent guidance for Draco in the trickier healing and blood replenishing charms, which were notoriously hard to get right, while Draco had aided Hannah with Potions, which had never been her best subject. By the time they started on their first year of residency together, Draco considered her one of his closest friends. She could always be relied on in a pinch and was capable of remarkable kindness, even when under stress.

“Hey, Han,” he said as he pulled his robes out of his locker. “How long have you been here?”

She made a face. “Since yesterday morning. And I’ve got another twenty-four hours to go. You just got here, I presume?”

“Yep,” he replied.

“Had a good night off with your almost-husband?” she asked with a knowing smile before putting her shirt back on.

Draco grinned. Pansy and Hannah both had taken to referring to Harry this way. It was an epithet not to be confused with the word “fiancé,” since he and Harry were not yet engaged. But it was understood by everyone that they would get married one day. So the title had stuck. Draco found he didn’t mind it at all.

“Two nights off actually… and yes, it was quite pleasurable.” He still had the mild but satisfying ache in his arse to prove it.

“Lucky you,” Hannah said with a wry smile, and there was something in her tone that had Draco frowning.

“Trouble in paradise with Longbottom?” he asked. Draco had learned to tolerate the pureblood Gryffindor that was Hannah’s boyfriend, because they had so many mutual friends now, but he’d always found him a bit annoying. Just a little _too_ nice, he thought, and not in the fierce, pure way that Hannah was. Hannah loved him, though, and that made Draco behave. Well… most of the time.

“ _Neville_ ,” she said, giving him a look, “is already at Hogwarts.”

Draco closed his locker, fully dressed now, and turned to her with a furrowed brow. “But the term doesn’t start for another week.”

They began walking out together. “Since it’s his first year and he’s taking over for Sprout, he went early. He said he wanted to get familiar with the greenhouses and whatnot.”

“Mm,” said Draco. “Well, you could always go visit him. If there are no students there yet, I’m sure you’re allowed.”

“He wants me to,” Hannah admitted. “But I… I don’t know. _He_ could just as easily come see _me_ , you know. He claims to be busy, but I’m busy, too. My career is just as important as his. And I hardly get any time off and I just want to spend it at home, you know? I don’t want to have to travel in my limited free time. And I can’t help but feel that none of this bodes well for the rest of the year, if he’s acting this way already.” She ran a hand through her lanky brown locks and sighed.

Draco hadn’t seen Hannah looking this dejected before, and he felt some protectiveness flare up within him. He had half a mind to give Longbottom what-for on the issue. “I’m sorry, Han,” he said. “That sounds really frustrating.”

She shrugged. “More than I have time to get into now, unfortunately.”

“Well, we should have drinks soon, anyway,” said Draco. “It’s been forever. You can tell me and Pans all about it then.”

She gave him a small smile, looking just a bit more cheerful. “That’s a great idea. I’ll owl Pansy and find out when she’s free. I could use a girls’ night.”

Draco rolled his eyes but let that slide. Hannah and Pansy liked to call the trio's quasi-monthly drinks “girls’ nights,” even though Draco had pointed out to them numerous times that being in love with a man did not automatically make one a _girl,_ and that he was a prime example. They were unperturbed by his protests, however, and, as with most things regarding them, his affection for the two women outweighed his annoyance. So he let them get away with it, most of the time.

“Sounds good,” he said. “Let me know when you hear from her.”

“Yeah, will do.” She sighed again. “All right, I’ve got to run. I’m on Kipling’s service this week and he’s got me in the lab day and night. I think I got about three hours of sleep last night total.” She stopped walking suddenly and turned to Draco. “That reminds me. I noticed your aunt is on my docket this morning.”

That gave Draco pause. “Andromeda?”

“Yeah. I’ve got to run a comprehensive _Pernicio_ _sus_ screening on the sample she left. Do you know anything about it?”

Draco shook his head. This was the first he had heard, which was troubling. He would have hoped that Andromeda would have said something to him, or Harry, if she were having any symptoms that called for such testing. “You’ll tell me the results, though, yeah?”

“Of course,” Hannah said, squeezing his arm reassuringly. “I’ll come find you as soon as they come through.”

Draco gave her a small but grateful smile, and they parted ways. Draco took a few deep breaths and gathered his focus. While he was concerned about what those test results might be, he couldn’t let himself get distracted. He had to compartmentalize. It was just a reality of the job.

He smiled when he remembered that he was finally back on Healer Iwu’s rotation again. She was his favorite Senior Healer, by far.

Ironic, since he’d balked that very first day of residency over a year ago, when he was placed on Iwu’s service for his first ever shift as a newly minted Junior Healer. Adisa Iwu was one of the Senior Healers on the maternity ward, which covered pre-natal, neo-natal, and pediatric care. Since Draco had neither a personal nor clinical interest in the female reproductive system, he had not been particularly looking forward to being stuck as what he thought amounted to a glorified gynecologist for his first week. He’d grown even more despondent at the prospect when he’d met Healer Iwu that morning. It was apparent, when he introduced himself to her, that she was familiar with his name.

“ _Draco_ Malfoy?” she had clarified, after he’d provided his surname. She was giving him an impersonal once-over with her sharp onyx eyes, and Draco had to resist the urge to fidget under that imperial stare.

“Yes, ma’am,” Draco had replied, his heart already sinking.

“Your reputation precedes you,” Iwu had said flatly, before turning away and indicating that he, and the rest of the Junior Healers on her service, should follow. He saw some of his fellow first-year Healers give him smug, knowing looks as they passed him.

 _Great,_ Draco had thought then, remaining in the back of the group. _Bloody perfect._ It didn’t matter that it had been four years since the end of the war. Apparently he would never escape the mistakes of his youth.

Harry’s voice had immediately popped into his head though, at that moment. _You’re not your past, Draco. You deserve to be here. Prove the bastards wrong._ He felt renewed determination solidify inside him.

He was glad it had, because it gave him the wherewithal to prove himself within the first few minutes of his residency. Healer Iwu had taken them on rounds, showing her young Healers the patients currently in the ward, including an infant named Malakai who had been born premature after his mother had been in the room during a disastrous potions accident and had inhaled poisonous fumes.

Draco had marveled at little Malakai for a moment, floating in the magical bubble that had been conjured around him to protect him from the hazards of the outside world. He looked much too small and fragile to be able to survive, and yet there he was, fighting for his life.

“What are your immediate priorities when faced with a situation like Malakai’s mother was facing?” Healer Iwu asked the group.

“Stabilize the mother,” an eager redhead at the front of the group had immediately answered. “Then extract the infant from the womb as soon as possible.”

Iwu had raised her eyebrows and looked down at the pixie-like Junior Healer. “Correct, McClellan, although I like to _call_ on my residents to answer, rather than have them blurt out the answers of their own accord.”

McClellan had turned a bright shade of pink while the rest of the residents shifted uncomfortably, already intimidated by the formidable woman before them.

“What next, then, if you’ve successfully extracted the child?” She looked around the group. “What is your most immediate concern? Roberts,” she called, looking at a dark-haired man to Draco’s right.

“Damage to the magical core,” Roberts replied. “Toxic potion fumes can cause internal malformations for children when still in the womb.”

“Incorrect,” Iwu said. “Magical core damage is a concern, but not our most immediate. Who knows the answer?”

Draco found himself raising a shaking hand, his heart pounding in his chest. Iwu locked eyes with him. “Malfoy,” she said.

“Respiratory distress,” Draco said, glad his voice, at least, wasn’t shaking. “The baby was likely already oxygen-deprived while in the womb, because of the fumes the mother inhaled. He may need help breathing. His heart may even have stopped.”

“Very good,” Iwu said, with the slightest trace of a smile. “And what would you do, Healer Malfoy, to treat such distress?”

“Make sure the airways are clear, perform a _Caelifluit_ Charm to get clean air flowing into the lungs, and perform a Heart-Starting Charm if necessary.”

“Excellent.” Iwu’s eyes were glinting with approval. “Pietro Sanata told me you were sharp, Malfoy. Glad to have you on my service.” She turned to the rest of the group and began iterating the distinction between conditions that were immediately life-threatening versus chronically life-threatening, but Draco was barely listening.

 _Pietro Sanata told me your were sharp._ Sanata had been one of his professors at Healing school. Is that what Iwu had meant by “Your reputation precedes you?” Did she not know Draco as a former Death Eater at all, but rather as a promising Healing student? Hope began to bubble in his chest.

“And let’s not forget,” Healer Iwu was saying, as Draco’s attention came back to her, finally, “that methods for healing the magical cores of children, like the Core Restorative Draught, have improved vastly in the last few years, which means this issue stops being our first priority and only becomes the focus when all immediate crises have been addressed.” She was eyeing Draco as she said this, and Draco realized exactly what potion she was referring to. The one _he_ had helped improve, back in Hogwarts, with Harry. So, she had read his paper in _Potions Quarterly_ , though it was published a few years ago. His hopes soared.

And rightfully so. Everything had changed after that. Draco smiled at the memory now, as he made his rounds on all of Iwu’s current patients, thinking of that first week and how _right_ it had all felt, how competent a teacher and brilliant a Healer Iwu was, how natural pre-natal and pediatric Healing had turned out to be for Draco. It was hard to say why exactly, but he thought it came down to the rapport he could easily build with women and children both. He was charming but non-threatening, always with an air of competence that he modeled off of Iwu’s behavior. They trusted him, felt safe with him.

And the maternity ward held some of the most challenging cases in the whole of St. Mungo’s, as an added bonus. Draco’s skills and knowledge were constantly tested and no one case was the same. It was exactly what he’d been craving in a profession, without knowing it, and he’d found it essentially by accident.

Most Healers his year had not yet chosen a specialty. Strictly speaking, they weren’t supposed to. He was only a couple of months into his second year of residency, and he was kept on a strict schedule that rotated him through each department evenly. Or, at least, that was how it was supposed to work. After their first year Junior Healers could be specially requested by Senior Healers for certain cases, and Iwu did that with Draco quite frequently. It pleased Draco to no end, and became one of the many items on the list of reasons he essentially worshipped the ground she walked on.

“Malfoy.” Iwu’s clear and commanding voice cut through Draco’s thoughts, and he looked up immediately from the chart where he had been taking notes to see the woman in question coming towards him, looking august in her royal blue Healer robes, her caramel dreadlocks pulled back in a tidy knot. “Good morning.” Her face held the usual dispassionate expression, though her keen eyes were alert, missing nothing.

“Good morning, ma’am,” Draco said.

“I saw that you started back on my service this morning.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, I have a case for you.”

Draco smiled, taking the chart she handed him. He opened it as Iwu went on.

“Madam Lorenz brought a group from the orphanage for their pre-Hogwarts check-ups, and this came up in one of the exams.”

Draco nodded, reading the examining Mediwitch’s notes on Mila Gonzalez, age fifteen. He knew this patient. He had examined her last year around this same time. She was a particularly special case, a war orphan who had suffered extensively at the hands of some Death Eaters while her parents were being tortured and murdered in the next room. The curses they placed on her had left her magic volatile and very difficult to manage, and she was declared not fit for Hogwarts. Still, she was trying to learn magic with the help of private tutors, trying to learn to control it so that she was safe enough for school. It had been slow-going, he knew. He reached the final paragraph of the notes and paused for a moment, then met his mentor’s eyes.

“This case requires some sensitivity, as you can see,” Iwu said soberly. “Can you handle it?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Draco said without hesitation.

Her lips twitched in approval. “I thought so. Finish the exam and talk her through her options. And alert me if there’s trouble, of course.”

Draco nodded his consent and made his way towards the exam rooms, mentally preparing himself along the way.

 _Sensitivity._ It was a trait he’d had to acquire, for it had never come naturally. No surprise, given who his father was.

_You’re not Lucius._

He reached exam room seven and knocked lightly to alert his patient to his presence. He entered slowly but confidently, taking in the sight in front of him.

Mila Gonzalez sat in jeans and a t-shirt on the exam table, her spindly arms tense by her sides and her small hands clutching the edge of the table. She put one in mind of a bird, a heron, perhaps, Draco thought. She had a meatless, emaciated quality that made her arms, legs, and neck look too long for her petite torso. She looked up as he entered, taking him in with cautious, chocolate brown eyes.

“Good morning, Mila,” Draco said, giving her a small smile. “I’m Healer Malfoy. I don’t know if you remember me. I performed your check-up last year.”

She nodded. “I remember.” Her voice was a bit hoarse, as though she didn’t use it much.

“They’ve asked me to come in and finish your exam, if it’s all right with you,” Draco went on, and Mila nodded. Draco nodded in return and sat down on the stool next to the table. “Did the Mediwitch explain to you the tests she ran, and the results?”

Mila nodded again.

“So, you understand that you are pregnant, approximately six weeks along or so?”

Another nod.

“Good,” Draco said. “I’d like to examine you, get some more information about the fetus, and talk you through your options. Is that all right?”

“Yes,” she said softly.

“Do you have any questions before we begin?”

She shook her head mutely.

Draco suppressed a sigh. “Lie back on the table, if you would then, Mila, and pull up your shirt enough that I can see your stomach.”

Mila complied silently. Draco raised the height of the stool and scooted it forward, performing an Impervious Charm on his hands to avoid cross-contamination, as he always did before he touched a patient. He stared down at Mila’s abdomen, honey brown skin stretched tight over prominent ribs, and wondered how a child could possibly be growing inside there at that very moment, inside a young woman who was practically skin and bones. He made himself shake off the thought and begin the exam. First he performed a charm to confirm the pregnancy, then more charms to diagnose the health of the fetus. He took a drop of Mila’s blood to test her health as well, and suppressed another sigh as he found, unsurprisingly, that Mila was fairly malnourished and not in prime condition to carry a child to term.

Mila said nothing as Draco worked, staring blankly up at the ceiling. She barely acknowledged his words as he explained each procedure he was doing. Draco wished she were a bit easier to read. He was sure she must be frightened, perhaps even in shock, but he wished he could find some clue in her behavior that would help him determine how to approach this. But Mila was far away, an island unto herself.

“All right,” Draco said, when he’d finished his examination. “All done. You can sit up now.”

Mila pulled her shirt down and returned to sitting with surprising grace. She stared at the floor.

“The fetus is healthy, overall,” Draco said. “There is no indication that your condition is negatively affecting it in any way.”

Mila's eyes met his then, and he saw a small spark of life in them.

“However, it is early yet,” Draco went on. “And I’m concerned about your nutrition. As the fetus grows, it will require more and more of your resources, of which you currently have little. I know maintaining a healthy weight has been a challenge for you for the past few years. It is important now more than ever that we do something about that.”

Mila nodded with unexpected vigor. “I understand.”

Draco eyed her carefully. “Mila…” he began, then took a deep breath. This was the tricky part. “You have some options here, and you should know that the choice is up to you, and you alone. You can choose to carry the baby to term, or we can terminate.” He saw Mila’s eyes widen at that, but he plowed on. “It is early enough that you wouldn’t need to undergo a procedure. There is a potion you can take to safely end the pregnancy.” Mila was already shaking her head, but Draco knew he had to say more, _had_ to help her understand what she could be getting into. “Whatever you decide, I will support you and help you through it. However, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t give you all the facts about the risks you would be taking if you carried to term. Like I said, proper nutrition would be an issue throughout this pregnancy. We would have to keep a very close eye on it, and you would have to be vigilant about taking your potions and eating properly if you want to keep the child healthy. The effect that it will have on _your_ health is another matter altogether. It’s not uncommon for perfectly healthy women to experience some change in their magic during pregnancy, and with your magic being as volatile as it is, and your situation being quite rare, there is really no way to know how your magic will react, and how it will affect you.”

“Could it hurt the baby?” Mila asked, her hand coming to rest over her navel.

Draco sighed. “It most likely will not. A witch’s magical core creates a barrier around the uterus to protect the fetus from harmful magic during her pregnancy, and yours appears to have created one successfully. That barrier could fail, though that is very rare. As of right now, the baby is protected. I’m more concerned about you and how you will be affected. It's possible that not much will change, but it's also very possible for things to change drastically as the pregnancy progresses. You might find your magic even harder to control than it is now. Your body may have a hard time managing the changes, which could have some challenging, even painful, physical effects.”

Mila shook her head. “That doesn’t matter,” she said.

“It does matter,” Draco said emphatically. “It matters a great deal. _You_ matter a great deal.” Mila’s eyes dropped to the floor again, and Draco softened his tone. He had a feeling he knew what this was about. “I know things haven’t always been easy. I imagine they feel downright impossible sometimes. But you have… you can have many years, Mila. With the right potions and practice controlling your magic, you can have a full, real life. There could even come a time, when you’re older, when it is safer for you to have a child. This isn’t your only chance at that.”

She looked at him, and for a moment Draco thought that he had gotten through, that he had guessed the right thing to say. But then she closed her eyes and said, softly, “But it’s my choice, right?”

Draco looked down at his hands. “Of course. It’s your choice.”

“Then I want to keep it.”

Draco nodded. He wished, for her sake, that she was choosing differently, but he also refused to push her. That wasn’t his job. His job was to give her the facts, then give her best care he possibly could once she had made her decision. “All right,” he said. “Then we need a very clear plan going forward. You should be prepared to see me quite a bit for the next seven or eight months. I want to see you once a month, to start, to check on the progress of the pregnancy and to check on your health as well. I’m going to adjust your potion regimen to manage this malnutrition issue, and you must – I cannot stress this enough – you _must_ follow it, to a t.”

“I understand,” Mila said. “You can give the details to Madam Lorenz. She’ll make sure I do everything right.”

Draco smiled wryly. He knew that as the warden Lorenz did all she could to keep the children in her care happy and healthy. But he also knew that it had been a battle with Mila sometimes, especially getting her to take her potions. “All right,” he said, meeting her eyes. “I’ll give her all of the information too, but I need to know that you will take responsibility for this as well, Mila. This isn’t all on her. It’s on you. This may be one of the most important things you ever do. We need to do this right. Anything else, and the consequences could be quite severe, even deadly. And I’m not exaggerating for effect here, either. This is quite serious.”

Mila nodded emphatically. “I’ll be good. I promise. I’ll do everything you tell me to.” She seemed so small, so young, in that moment, that Draco had the unexpected urge to wrap her up and protect her from the world, from everything that was about to happen. But he remembered all that she had already been through, and that she was hardly unfamiliar with difficult things. This was just one more difficult thing on a very long list.

He wrote out a potions prescription and charmed it to fold itself into a paper bird and fly off down to the hospital apothecary to be filled. Then he asked Mila to fetch Madam Lorenz so that they could have a private talk.

The warden was a short, squat woman with charcoal gray hair that framed her friendly, round face in short ringlets. She came into the exam room and sat herself across from Draco with a sigh, her ice blue eyes meeting his in earnest concern and her usually smiling mouth set in a grim line.

“Thank you for coming in,” Draco said to her. “I’m sure by now you’ve been apprised of the situation?”

“I have, Healer Malfoy,” the woman said in her slightly croaky voice. “Though I’m struggling to understand how this could have happened.”

“Is Mila involved with anyone romantically? A young man from the orphanage, perhaps?”

Lorenz shook her head. “Not that I know of. There aren’t any boys older than thirteen at the orphanage currently. She may have a boyfriend outside of the orphanage, however. We do occasionally let her go to visit Hogsmeade when the students are there, so she can socialize. It’s so hard on her, not being allowed to go to Hogwarts herself. It’s good for her to have friends. But as far as a young man… well, I don’t know of one. And we keep quite a close eye on her, you know. We have to.”

“So, no idea who the father of the child might be?”

“Not a clue, I’m afraid. Mila wouldn’t tell you?”

“I didn’t ask.”

Lorenz sat back in her chair at that. “You’re leaving that pleasant task to me, then?”

Draco frowned. “It’s simply not relevant to our treatment plan, so I didn’t feel it was my place to ask. You are certainly welcome to ask her, if you wish.”

“She’s ending the pregnancy?”

Draco steeled himself. “No.”

Lorenz inhaled loudly through her nose, then let the breath out slowly. “She has always been a stubborn child.” Her tone managed to convey both her affection and disapproval simultaneously.

Draco blinked at her, making sure his expression was impassive.

“There is nothing you can do to convince her?” Lorenz asked, her tone becoming almost pleading.

“I was very clear with her about the risks, but the decision is and will always be up to her, and she’s decided to carry to term. As much as I might believe she should make a different choice, I cannot force her to do so. And attempting to force her will only make her stop trusting me as her Healer, and then she may refuse to follow the treatment plan at all.”

She sniffed loudly again. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. I just don’t… I don’t understand it at all. The girl has hardly shown an interest, passion, or attachment to anything. It is hard for me to imagine her wanting to mother a child. She is still only a child herself.”

“She didn’t give me any clue as to her reasons,” Draco said.

“I’m not surprised. She is quite reserved. Self-contained. She’s been that way since she came to us. I don’t know if it’s a result of her inherent nature or of the trauma she endured. I imagine it’s a bit of both.”

Draco nodded, then took a breath to ask the next difficult question. “Has it gotten worse in the past few weeks, that sort of reserved behavior? Or is it the same?”

Lorenz furrowed her brow. “The same as always. Why do you ask?”

Draco looked at her soberly. “I have to wonder if…” He sighed. “If, Merlin forbid, the intercourse that led to her pregnancy was not consensual. Obviously that would be quite tragic, and would complicate things immensely. But I have to ask the question. She’s so closed off and seems unwilling to examine it too deeply. I thought perhaps she was simply protecting the father, but if you don’t even have a candidate in mind for who it could be… Is it possible she has endured a second trauma, without your realizing it?”

Lorenz tilted her chin up. “I would have noticed something like that. We are trained to recognize such things.”

“Of course,” Draco said mildly. “But… seeing as she has a tendency towards reserved, and sometimes difficult, behavior anyway, it might be that the signs are much more subtle with her.”

“I’ve noticed nothing,” Lorenz said, and Draco could tell by her clipped tone that she felt her competence was being questioned.

“Like I said, I had to ask. I’m glad that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Lorenz looked placated, for the time being, at least, and Draco decided to table the issue for now. Perhaps, if he were able to gain Mila’s trust, she would choose to confide in him herself. So instead he took the opportunity to talk over Mila’s treatment plan with Lorenz, giving her the details of the new potions he was prescribing as well as what he expected for her diet in order to keep the baby healthy.

He was exhausted when he was finished and Madam Lorenz and Mila had bid their goodbyes. He checked the time on his wand and was amazed to find that it was only a little after 9:30.

So it was going to be one of _those_ shifts, the kind that seemed to drag on forever.

_Only thirty-four hours to go._

He tracked down Iwu and gave her the details of the examination and Mila’s decision about the pregnancy. She took in his report with the same disappointed acceptance he himself felt.

“Very well,” she said, when he was finished. “We’ll have to be very careful with this one. Keep me updated every time she comes in for an exam, and if there is any whiff of trouble, _anything_ , even if you’re just not sure, let me know right away.”

“Of course, ma’am. I will,” Draco replied.

“You haven't taken the lead on a case this difficult before. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Draco nodded, hearing the threat inherent in that statement as much as the vote of confidence. This was not one he could take lightly. There was little room for error.

He tried very hard not to think about that as he returned to his small batch of charts, choosing instead to focus on the patients in front of him: a brand new little girl who’d just been born the night before, a witch who was eight months pregnant and felt just about ready to pop, and a nervous new mother whose 2-month-old had the sniffles. It was close to 10:30 when he finished, and he was just thinking about taking a quick break and having a snack when Hannah found him, a lab chart in her hand.

He knew immediately, looking at her face, that the results were not good.

“Here,” she said, holding the chart out to him. “They just came through.”

Draco swallowed the dread burning in his throat and made himself open the file. He had to stare at it for a few seconds before his brain could catch up and register what it actually said.

“ _Perniciosus Totus_ ,” he said aloud. He skimmed the details, seeing that Andromeda’s kidneys, liver, and magical core were particularly affected, though he knew that the suffix _Totus_ meant that the disease was already in most, if not all, of her organs. He looked at Hannah, who was watching him closely. “Has Kipling seen these yet? Does he know the prognosis?” He didn’t know enough about this particular family of diseases yet to be able to gauge such things himself.

Hannah looked down at the floor a moment, and Draco knew that she had the information. Of course, she would have taken the time to ask, knowing he would want to know. “Six to eight months.” Draco bowed his head at her words. “But that’s without treatment,” she went on quickly, putting a hand on his arm. “She could undergo regular Regeneration Charms here, and if she was willing to take the potion regimen, she could stretch that out to two to three years, Kipling says.”

“She’ll do the treatment,” Draco said. He knew it was involved, not to mention expensive. But he would pay for it himself, if need be.

“Well, that’s up to her, obviously,” Hannah said carefully. “I’ve already contacted her to set up an appointment with Kipling to talk about the results and her options. She’ll hear all about it tomorrow.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Draco said with a sigh. “Of course I wouldn’t force her to do the treatment. I only meant that I have no doubt that she will want to.”

“It’s not all that fun, so I hear,” Hannah replied. “The charms are very draining, and she would need to do them once a month to stem the tide of this kind of degeneration. Plus the potions’ side effects… lethargy and nausea are the most common, but some patients don’t react well at all.”

Draco shook his head. “It would be worth it to her. She’ll want to buy all the time she can, to be with her family, with her grandson.”

The realization hit him like The Hogwarts Express going full speed.

 _Teddy_.

“She won’t be able to keep Teddy,” he said, all of these revelations starting to make him feel numb, and a bit lightheaded.

“No,” Hannah agreed. “The stress of raising a child… well, it will be too much for her with everything else, I think. For the treatment to work, she’ll need a lot of rest.”

Draco nodded. “Not to mention that a five-year-old shouldn’t have to watch all that happening to his grandmother.” _The only parent he’s never known._

Although Harry was like a second parent in a way, since he was the godfather. And Draco was a third parent, essentially, by association. They kept Teddy regularly, and Harry visited him often. Draco spent time with him whenever he could, though, since he had started his residency, it wasn’t as frequently as he would like.

But now…

“Harry and I will take him, I suppose.” It was the only logical thing. Harry and Draco were the only adults that Teddy trusted enough and who didn’t already have familial obligations of their own.

_And Harry will want it this way. He’ll insist on it, and rightfully so._

He met Hannah’s eyes, to see that they were glistening with sorrow. “I’m sorry, Draco,” Hannah said. “About all of this. I wish the results were different.”

“Me too,” Draco said, looking at the chart again. “But people get sick. That’s just the way it is.” His throat felt tight, and he swallowed back the feelings that were rising up, knowing he didn't have the time for them now.

“You and Harry will be great with Teddy, though. He adores you both.”

“Yeah,” Draco said, wishing he had the same confidence. He knew there might come a time when he and Harry would have to take on more responsibility for Teddy, maybe even take him in permanently. And he had no qualms about that. He loved his little cousin. He just didn’t think it would be so soon. He thought they’d be a bit more settled than this. The timing certainly wasn’t ideal.

But, he also knew, people did what they had to do, in times like these. And he wasn’t about to let Harry, or Andromeda, or Teddy down. He refused to.


	4. Space Between

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Sunday, another chapter! After you finish this one you will have officially been introduced to all of the main characters. From here on out the story will cycle through these four povs, but also in whatever order best suits the story. So don't be surprised if I change it up on you :) Also bear in mind that while each storyline has now been introduced, there is more to each character's story than what you've seen so far. There will be angst and fluff for everyone, hopefully in a way that feels balanced.
> 
> I'm also aware that I have taken some liberties with the way the worlds of Healers and Aurors function. I've structured it all based on my own plot needs and not purely on canon or the way their Muggle counterparts might function. I try to make it consistent and believable throughout, of course! If something confuses you, feel free to ask about it.
> 
> Your comments continue to be amazing and so helpful to me. So keep 'em coming, please! <33

(Hermione)

She’d had this nightmare before. She knew it well.

She’d walked this hall, or some version of it, at least, though in the nightmares it had stretched on and on, the dilapidated walls yellowing as they collapsed in on themselves and the black and white checkered floor twisting over and upside down like the surface of a Mobius strip.

On and on it would go, while her heart beat in her mouth, the stretch of hallway brutally infinite, and yet all the more merciful for it, because it meant she never had to face what was at the end.

Which was why she knew this was not a dream at all. Even more so than because the hallway was full of people, running to and fro with purpose and paying her little mind, more so than because she could feel the familiar weight of her handbag clutched at her side and the prosaic itching at the back of her neck from the tag of her blouse. These things reminded her that she was lucid, yes, but…

But how she really knew, how she finally convinced herself that this was not, in fact, a nightmare, was that this hallway had an end.

She looked up at the sign above her and saw that she was where she was supposed to be. The Janus Thickey ward. She was quite familiar with that sign.

She entered the ward and looked around, hoping for an obvious indication of where she needed to head to next. But the signs around her gave very little direction, and the main desk was unmanned, at least for the moment.

Hermione reached into her bag and pulled out the letter she had received that morning, the letter that had summoned her here in the first place. It had been delivered discretely by owl to her desk at work when no one else was around, which she greatly appreciated. If there was one thing the Mind Healers at St. Mungo’s did well, it was discretion.

She opened the letter and looked at it, her eyes skimming across the instructions. _Please come see me as soon as you possibly can,_ the letter had urged her. _Treatment cannot move forward without your consent._

She glanced at the signature again, remembering, vaguely, the twitch of surprise at seeing the name when she’d first read the letter. It was enough to cut through the fog of her panic, if just for a moment. She’d had no idea that her former classmate, Millicent Bulstrode, had become a Mind Healer. It was an odd thing to wrap her brain around. Bulstrode had been neither academically gifted nor particularly nice when Hermione had known her at Hogwarts.

But, as far as her current concerns went, Bulstrode’s bewildering career choice was quite low on the list.

A Mediwizard passed her by and she got his attention.

“Excuse me,” she said, and he glanced up at her politely. “I’m looking for Healer Bulstrode’s office.”

“Down that hall,” the Mediwizard said, pointing to the left. Then he was off again before Hermione even had a chance to say “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” she said anyway, softly, mostly to herself.

She made her way down the hall, glancing to her left and right at each door she passed, looking for the right name. Finally, she found it: office 312B, Millicent Bulstrode, Mind Healer.

The door was partially ajar, but she knocked on it anyway. It was only polite.

“Come in,” a clear alto voice said from within, and Hermione did so.

Bulstrode was sitting behind her desk, but she stood as soon as she saw Hermione, bringing herself up to her full and considerable height.

She vaguely resembled the hulking, ill-tempered girl that had bullied Hermione a little in school. She was still quite large, both in energy and in actual physical presence, although adolescence and beyond seemed to have shaped her into someone curvaceous rather than rotund. She wore her short, dark hair pulled back off her face, revealing her familiarly sizeable jaw and full lips. The rest of her face, though, seemed different. She wore just a touch of makeup, some foundation to smooth out her skin, a light brush of rouge to give her color, and mascara that lent a delicate femininity to her eyes that had never been there in school. All in all, Hermione was surprised to realize, she actually found the woman rather striking to look at.

“Good morning, Ms. Granger,” Bulstrode said, her tone professional and respectful, as though the two women had no history at all. “Thank you for coming in. Won’t you have a seat?”

“Thank you,” Hermione said. She wanted to say something friendly, like “It’s good to see you again,” or “It’s been a long time. How have you been?” but hardly thought that it was appropriate, under the circumstances.

Bulstrode opened a cabinet behind her and removed a couple of files. Then, with files in hand, she sat down again, looking at Hermione soberly. “I didn’t say much in my letter, because at the time I still did not have many of the facts. I also hardly thought this was the sort of information to be relayed by owl.”

“I appreciate that,” said Hermione, eager to get to the point.

“So, this is what we know so far.” Bulstrode opened both files and laid them out in front of her. “There was an incident early this morning that called operatives from the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad to the neighborhood where your parents live. During their investigation and interviews of the residents your parents were discovered to be… in what the operatives could only describe as… an ‘altered state.’”

Hermione tried to pay attention even as her brain automatically kicked into high gear, formulating the multitude of questions she wanted to ask and organizing them in order of greatest priority.

“It didn’t take long for the operatives to realize who your parents were and to understand that action needed to be taken, magical intervention, to help them,” Bulstrode went on. “So we were contacted to come and collect them and bring them here for observation and testing.” She paused, looking at Hermione closely.

“What sort of… ‘altered state’ are my parents in, exactly?” Hermione asked.

Bulstrode took a deep breath. “It appears they’ve had a relapse of sorts, regarding their… mental faculties, you could say.” Again she paused, seeming reluctant to go on.

Hermione adjusted herself in her chair. “Healer Bulstrode,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound too impatient, though she was aware that her voice was tight. “I’d appreciate it if you’d just lay it all out for me, and don’t worry if I will be upset. I’ve been dealing with some issues regarding my parents’ memory and other things for the past five years. Whatever has happened, I would like to know in as much detail as possible. I can handle it.”

Bulstrode blinked at her, then nodded. “Very well.” She took another deep breath and looked at one of the files in front of her. “Your mother is incoherent. She tries to speak, and she can say some words, but it seems she is unable to form complete sentences, and none of what she has said so far makes very much sense. She does not appear to understand where she is or what is going on. She doesn’t seem to recognize your father or Healer Milhouse, who came to examine her since he has worked with her in the past. She is unable to say her own name, and it is unclear at this point if she even knows it.”

Hermione tried to take this in, but there was a strange buzzing in her ears that she figured could only be shock. She blinked at Bulstrode, forcing herself to find her voice. “And…” She gripped the armrests of her chair, hard, so hard it hurt, and the pain grounded her a little. “And my father?”

Bulstrode dipped her head. It was a small gesture, but to Hermione it spoke volumes. “He hasn’t spoken a word since he came to us five hours ago. He hasn’t moved of his own accord or acknowledged the presence of anyone around him. He is completely catatonic.”

“Catatonic…” Hermione repeated, mostly to herself.

“It’s a term we use to describe the psychogenic motor immobility-“

“No, I know what catatonia is,” Hermione interrupted her, perhaps a bit sharply. She rubbed her eyes and tried to breathe normally. “I’m sorry. I’m…”

“It’s quite all right. Of course, this must be a bit of a shock.”

“Yes, it’s a shock,” Hermione said, feeling as though that was the understatement of the year. “When you said ‘relapse’ I thought it would be more like… But this… this is much worse than they’ve ever been before.”

Bulstrode nodded. “You’re right. We just… at this point we don’t know how else to characterize it.”

“How did this _happen_?”

“Our best theory, in fact, our only real working theory, is that it’s a direct result of the incident that occurred near their home. There was a burst of powerful, wandless magic, an accident. These things happen sometimes. It was why the Reversal Squad was called in the first place, to undo the damage of the accidental magic, to put things right and to Obliviate the Muggles that witnessed the event.”

“So some… some witch or wizard got upset and performed some magic and turned my parents brains to mush? I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

“Their brains are not mush, Ms. Granger. They are physically intact. But their minds have been altered… magically… somehow. It’s not really… at this point, honestly, we’re still working out exactly what’s going on.”

“Were any of the other Muggles affected in the same way?”

Bulstrode sighed. “No. There was considerable property damage and some superficial wounds to the individuals closest to the blast, but no one else suffered any mental affects. Certainly nothing like what your parents suffered.”

“Then why…?” But Hermione didn’t really need to finish that question. She’d already worked it out. “It’s because I Obliviated them, isn’t it? It’s because I removed so many of their memories six years ago and then tried to put them back… and it didn’t go exactly right…” She looked at Bulstrode for confirmation, and saw it in her eyes. She stood, not knowing why but needing to move about. “They were already fragile, already unstable, and the exposure to magic triggered something…” She was pacing back and forth, talking mostly to herself, but Bulstrode answered anyway.

“That is our thinking as well, yes,” she said gently. “But it’s not something anyone could have foreseen, including you. You cannot blame yourself for this.”

Hermione was barely listening, trying to wrap her mind around how some bit of accidental magic could possibly do this to her parents. It must not have been a little bit of magic at all, but rather something much larger, and much more powerful, than usual. What were the odds, that such a thing would occur in _her_ parents’ neighborhood, of all places?

“Are they absolutely certain it was an accident? I mean could someone have… could my parents have been targeted somehow?”

Bulstrode shook her head. “They’re quite sure. I spoke directly to a member of the Squad, and she left me her case notes. The investigation revealed no details of concern, and the source of the magic was traced back to a wizard residing nearby who panicked when a potion went wrong and let out a very powerful burst of magic to shield himself from the impending explosion. It happens, Ms. Granger. It happens all the time. The wizard’s account checked out, and the operatives found nothing suspicious about it.”

“Who was the wizard?” Hermione asked.

Bulstrode looked at her, almost sadly. “I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it would be unethical, for one thing. And for another, I don’t know myself. Such information is supposed to be kept confidential by law enforcement. I was only told what I needed to know in order to understand your parents’ case.”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t understand how they could… I mean, did they run background, at least, see if he had any affiliations…?”

“Ms. Granger…”

“If I could just see him for myself, see if he’s someone-“

“Hermione.”

She stopped and turned, her first name coming from Millicent Bulstrode’s lips stunning her more than she thought possible. Bulstrode took advantage of her momentary silence.

“It is perfectly natural,” the Healer said, “to want answers to such questions, to try and understand the events that lead to this point. However, in the end, these are not the right questions to be asking. They are not the most productive use of our time. I trust the Squad’s account of what happened and am therefore simply looking at what can be done to treat your parents for their current condition.”

Hermione had to admit, Bulstrode was better at her job than she ever would have suspected. Her tone was kind, yet still firm, authoritative, helping Hermione absorb the rationality of her words. Yes, she was wasting time obsessing over this, because she wanted to believe that someone else was responsible for this, that this was somehow not her fault.

But it was. It simply was.

“Of course,” she said softly. She returned to her seat. “What do you need from me?”

“Consent,” Bulstrode said simply. “There are a number of tests and treatments we can run which are within basic protocol, and we have begun that process already. However, I suspect, and my superiors agree with me, that the basics will do little for us here. I believe that we will need treatment that is a bit more extreme, and that means some risk. And as the power of attorney for both of your parents, it is up to you to decide what measures you are willing to allow us to take.” She removed a set of documents from both of the files and slid them across the desk towards Hermione. “There are a number of options here that we can talk through. We can try any combination of options, and in any order you see fit. I will say, though, that in my opinion our most promising bet is Therapeutic Legilimency. It is invasive, but it is very effective when done right. And the Legilimens we have on staff is one of the best in the country. He has twenty years of experience with such treatment as by all accounts is quite gentle.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, trying to read the words in front of her, but finding they were swimming before her eyes. “If that is our best option, then do it. And if that doesn’t work, do the rest. Do whatever it takes.” Normally, she would be insisting that she read through the options thoroughly, and that they give her time to do some research, possibly get a second opinion. But, really, with her mother babbling like a lunatic and her father catatonic, could things really get any worse? What could _she_ possibly do or learn that the Mind Healers couldn’t?

 _And haven’t I done enough already?_ When it came to the mental well-being of her parents, she didn’t exactly have the best track record.

“All right,” Bulstrode said, eyeing her carefully. “Why don’t we begin with the Legilimency then? If we need to explore more options, we will, and I can give you more information on those later on.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, realizing what Bulstrode was getting at. She had basically just given the Mind Healers free reign without really thinking things through properly, which was not like her at all. “This is all a bit overwhelming.”

“Perfectly understandable.” Hermione was again struck by the kindness in Bulstrode’s tone, how genuine and unaffected it was. It was unexpected, all of it, and it made her realize she had never really known Millicent Bulstrode at all. “We’ll just take this one step at a time, shall we?”

Hermione nodded, then picked up the quill that Bulstrode and provided and signed where she indicated, in order to give consent for the Legilimency treatment.

“We’ll finish our basic protocols today,” Bulstrode continued, “and see if there is any change. The Therapeutic Legilimency will begin tomorrow, and we will send you an update via owl once the first round of treatment is completed.”

“But I can…” Hermione bit her lip. “Surely I can visit them, can’t I?”

“Of course,” Bulstrode said. “In fact, it could only help for them to see you frequently. I only meant that on the days you can’t come in, we’ll certainly stay in touch about the progression of things.”

Hermione nodded. “Good. Yes. Good.” She stared down at her left hand, where her engagement ring glittered cheerfully, feeling incongruous with the rest of her, but somehow comforting all the same. Her thumb was already playing with the white gold band unconsciously, a habit she’d developed not long after Ron had put it on her finger. She felt the smoothness of it against the pad of her thumb, enjoyed the familiar pinch of it against her skin. It calmed her. “Can I… can I see them now?” She met Bulstrode’s eyes.

“Yes,” the Mind Healer replied. “Yes, of course.”

She led Hermione out of her office and down the hallway. It was immediately clear when they crossed the threshold into the ward proper, where the patient rooms were located, as the wall color changed to a soothing taupe and Healers weren’t the only people around. There were a number of patients, some walking, some in wheelchairs, moving about the hall. They were easy to distinguish, for they all wore the same kind of light blue pajama set, with the words “St. Mungo’s” labeled clearly across the left breast of their shirts. The uniform was hardly necessary though, for most of them had a vacancy in their eyes, an emptiness, that was hard to mistake. It gave Hermione chills, and she stood a little straighter, forcing herself to be brave enough for this.

She did not want to see what she was about to see. But she had to.

“Here is your parents’ room,” Bulstrode said, as they came upon a door that looked just like all the others on the hall: mostly opaque solid metal, painted taupe as well, with a small, thin window through which Hermione could just make out a figure sitting by the window on the far side of the room. “We put them together, figuring it could only help them, if one learns to recognize the other.” Hermione nodded her acknowledgement of that logic, only half listening. “This is where you’ll come when you visit. You must sign in at the front and be given a visitor’s badge, but there are no restrictions on time or number of visits. If you don’t find them in the room, they are likely in therapy or some other activity. Just ask a staff member and we can tell you where to find them.”

Hermione nodded again. “Thank you.” She was still staring at the door.

“Are you ready?”

She swallowed. “Yes. I’m ready.”

Bulstrode made to open the door, but Hermione stopped her suddenly.

“Wait,” she said, and the Healer paused, looking up at her. “I.. I need to be sure... I want to be sure that I understand how confidentiality and discretion work in cases like this. Because it's very important to me that my parents are protected, that the... the nature of their condition is kept strictly confidential. Especially the press..." She trailed off. In truth, she wasn't entirely sure how the press would react if they found out something like this. They might not think it a story worth writing about, which would be ideal. On the other hand, Hermione was a somewhat public figure thanks to her role in the war, her current work, and her close friendship with Harry Potter. Some reporter might think it made a good human interest piece. Or worse, one of them might to do some digging, make the connection to the past Obliviation, and realize that Hermione was the one responsible for it.

And she really didn't think she could bear it if that happened.

“I understand, of course,” Bulstrode said. “You know all Healers, both of the mind and of the body, are bound to strict confidentiality agreements. We take them very seriously. We can be sacked for violating them, in some circumstances. No one who treats your parents will share their names, or the details of their case, with anyone except other Mind Healers. And even then, information will only be shared when absolutely necessary.”

Hermione nodded. “And… law enforcement? The members of the Squad that… that found them to begin with?” If they could protect the man who performed the accidental magic in the first place, could she hope that they would protect the victims of his magic as well?

“My understanding is that there were only two on the Squad that actually saw your parents. They noted the strange behavior in their case notes, but did not name them directly, on our urging. The official report will reflect the same.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, before she was overtaken by a frisson of what she thought might be self-loathing. She knew who she was really trying to protect by asking: herself. She swallowed it down, though, knowing she had no choice.

“Thank you,” she told Bulstrode again. “I’m ready now. You can open the door.”

The room was small, utilitarian, and fairly depressing. As if reading her mind, Bulstrode said, “Of course, they’ve just arrived today. We’ll be able to brighten the space with some of their personal effects in the next few days. Feel free to bring in anything you like.”

“Sure,” Hermione said. Truly, she wasn’t all that worried about the room. She was too busy staring at her mother.

She was quite still, sitting in a chair against the wall, blinking slowly. Her mouth, almost always tilted upward in a warm smile, sagged with disuse, and her normally bright cheeks were pallid and limp, like they had been deflated.

Hermione made herself step further into the room. “Mum,” she said quietly. Her mother looked up at her. “Hi, Mum. It’s me. It’s Hermione.”

The woman watched indifferently as Hermione made her way over and took a chair next to her. Hermione had to suppress the stab of disappointment she felt. Some part of her, the least rational part, of course, had been hoping that her presence would somehow spark a moment of recognition in her mother, that she could somehow heal her, simply by being there. But it was clear, by her mother’s vacant stare, that that had been a pipe dream.

Nonetheless, Hermione reached out, placing a hand over her mother’s. Jean Granger stared down at their hands with a kind of detached astonishment and said something that sounded like either “pebbles” or “bubbles.” Hermione couldn’t tell.

“Shin. Moto. Purr.” The voice was soft, her lips barely moving, as though what she was saying was more to herself than to her daughter. Hermione nodded anyway, as if she understood, and clasped her hand around her mother’s.

She looked over to the window, where her father sat. He had not moved at all, nor made a sound, just as Bulstrode had described. He was turned facing the window, so Hermione could not see his expression. But it was not difficult to imagine what it would be.

“I’ll fix this,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “I will.”

She sat there, next to her mother, for a long time, holding onto her, crying silently, while her mother babbled on.

***

When she arrived home by floo at the end of the day she stumbled a little on the sitting room carpet, and for a moment she thought she was going to keel over.

She was so tired. Absolutely drained. After sitting with her parents for a bit, she’d returned to work, not knowing what else to do. She’d taken her lunch break for the visit and, while her boss certainly would have let her have the day off for a family emergency like this one, to request it would mean she would have to explain.

And she really didn’t want to explain.

So she’d carried on, doing paperwork at her desk for a while and attending the usual Wednesday afternoon meeting with her team. Luckily she had no client meetings, which required more of her focus, so she was able to sail on through, for the most part. Still, having to smile falsely and pretend everything was fine had been exhausting.

“You all right there, love?” came Ron’s voice, and she looked up, surprised, to see him lying on the sofa with a book in hand. She hadn’t realized he was there, lost in her thoughts as she was.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she replied, dusting some soot off her suit jacket before removing it. She tossed it on a chair and made her way over to her fiancé, taking in the sight of him.

His long, solid form was relaxed, clad in jeans and a black t-shirt, his usual at-home attire. It was a simple ensemble, but she thought it looked quite sexy on him, especially when he smiled warmly at her as he was doing now. She glanced at the book in his hand, and smiled when she saw it was a John Grisham novel. Though they had a television, which they watched on occasion, in the past couple of years Ron had become an avid reader of Muggle crime novels and political thrillers, something Hermione found both amusing and endearing. For the first time that day, looking at him, she felt a stirring of happiness.

“Let’s elope,” she said. “Let’s just run away and get married in secret, everything else be damned.”

Ron stared at her, surprised, and then he started laughing. It took him a minute or two to respond. “You’re kidding, right? After all that work?”

Hermione found herself smiling for real. “Yes, but there’s still so much more work to do. And some days I really just don’t feel like it.”

Ron sat up. “I know exactly what you mean,” he said. “I feel that way most of the time, especially when we’re in a planning meeting with our mothers.”

Hermione felt a stab of pain at that, but suppressed it.

“But in the end, I remind myself how good it’s going to be, with everyone there, and you in your dress…”

He had said just the right thing, and he knew it. Hermione _loved_ her wedding dress. She sighed.

He reached out, brushing a lock of hair from her face. “We’ll get through it, you know that. Only a few more months, and then all the details will be sorted, and then we just wait for May… and we’ll really let ourselves enjoy it, yeah?”

Hermione ran a hand lightly over his chest and nodded.

“What brought all this on?” Ron asked her. He tilted his head, looking at her closely. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

This was the moment to tell him the truth. It was the exact right opportunity. She could see it unfolding in her mind quite clearly: she would look down at her hands, then back up at him, tears pooling in her eyes, and say the words.

 _My parents are in the hospital_.

But the words did not want to come. They had taken hold in her esophagus, dug down deep, refusing to be expelled. She didn’t know why, exactly. There were a number of possible reasons. Perhaps it was because she and Ron were so happy, in their own little pre-nuptial bubble, and this would ruin it, poison it, choke the life out of it. Or perhaps she didn’t want to worry him, with everything else going on, his injury, his recovery. He was supposed to be taking it easy.

Or perhaps she was simply ashamed, and she couldn’t bring herself to admit to the man she loved that she had caused something so awful.

“I’m really tired,” she said. “It’s been a long day.”

He nodded. “Did you eat?”

She looked at him, and he looked right back. “You have to eat, Hermione. All these ‘working lunches,’ when you really only do the work and not the lunch… it drains you.”

“I know,” she said.

“It’s something I really don’t understand, to be honest.”

Hermione had to laugh. Yes, the idea of accidentally missing a meal was a foreign concept to Ron Weasley.

“Why don’t you relax, and I’ll make you something,” he said.

“No,” she replied. “It’s fine. I’ll make dinner.”

“It’s all right, 'Mione, You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” she said. “Cooking relaxes me.”

He smiled at her, running his thumb along her lower lip. “Why don’t I help you then, at least?”

She considered this, then nodded. “Yes, all right.”

She was slowly learning that she didn’t have to do everything on her own. But it was a process. With the big things, well… she still held onto those quite tightly, sometimes. But cooking dinner, yes. This they could do together.


	5. Don't Get Me Started

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here I come, with a much happier chapter than last week! Sorry I've been laying on the angst thick early. Just had to get all my plot points established! But here's a bit more fluff for you, plus some domestic Drarry and getting to watch Harry be good at his job. Enjoy, and please tell me what you think!
> 
> Also, if you happen to like my writing and have read my fic "A Secondary Education," I hope you will consider voting for it in the 2019 Drarry Awards! It's been nominated in the Best Angst and Best Smut categories. It would mean a lot to me, and to other authors that you love, if you let us know you like us! Voting closes Feb 10. Also, a BIG thank you to my nominator(s), whoever you are, for getting me in two categories this year!! I feel so honored and so grateful!
> 
> All right, now onto the chapter! <3

(Harry)

“Sweet Merlin, Harry. Don’t stop.”

Harry chuckled to himself and rubbed harder, both his thumbs sliding up the arch of Draco’s right foot before fanning out to knead along the metatarsals. Draco groaned, and Harry felt his cock give the smallest of twitches.

“You know,” he said, glancing over at the beautiful blond lounging across him on the sofa, whose his eyes were closed and lips were slightly parted. “I hope you never let anyone rub your feet but me. I don’t like the idea of other people getting these sorts of sounds out of you.”

Draco grinned. “No one else, Harry, I promise. What would be the point? No one’s _nearly_ as good as you.”

Harry laughed, secretly enjoying the blatant flattery. He put his focus back on the task in front of him. “Rough shift?” he asked. Even Draco’s feet seemed tense, the toes slightly clenched and the muscles a bit twitchy. And that was nothing to what Harry could spot easily in the blond’s elegant shoulders. He was carrying something, Harry could tell. Something heavy.

“Long,” Draco replied. “The kind that starts out busy and never really gives you a break.”

“Mm,” said Harry. “Well, we’ll go to bed early tonight.” Draco had another twenty-four hour shift starting the next morning. It was necessary, since he had managed to orchestrate having the entire weekend off so they could attend the DTF gala together with plenty of time before and after. It meant that Harry’s job for the next ten or so hours was to make sure Draco was rested and refreshed, so he could finish that shift successfully and then really enjoy himself.

There was a tapping on the window, and Harry glanced up to see his owl, Orion, hovering there, waiting to be let in. He sighed, knowing from whom Orion was bringing a reply.

He lifted Draco’s feet off him and made to stand, ignoring his boyfriend’s bleats of protest at being abandoned mid-massage. Harry opened the window, letting the large black and white owl in and accepting the small note that was tied to his leg.

“I left some scraps for you on a plate in the kitchen,” he told the owl. “Archimedes’ had his fill. They’re all yours.”

Orion gave a dignified but grateful hoot and flew off down the hall. Harry unrolled the note and read it.

_1 o’clock tomorrow at your office will suit me. I shall see you then._

_Grayson Fawley, Esquire_

Harry made a face. _Esquire_. What a pretentious little prick Mr. Fawley was. Not to mention a vocal and shameless blood supremacist. Harry couldn’t stand him. And now he actually had to sit down with the solicitor and have a conversation the following day, one he was really not looking forward to. But it had to be done. There was nothing for it.

“What’s that bit of parchment done to you, to make you hate it so much?” Draco asked from the sofa, amused.

“It’s not the note itself,” said Harry. “It’s who wrote it.”

“Ah,” said Draco. He understood. Harry often complained about some of the blowhards he had to deal with in his job.

There weren’t many, thankfully. Most people seemed quite on board with the youth programs that Harry and his boss, Naomi Thickett, had created together four years ago. In modern times, the idea of encouraging young witches and wizards of different blood statuses and backgrounds to comingle and learn about each other was a popular one, and the programs were well attended and only growing. There was the year-round after school program for pre-Hogwarts youth, where children ages six to eleven could come have fun together for a couple of hours after primary school every day. Then there were the summer retreats for older students, a residential integration program that wasn’t just for Hogwarts students, but for those from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang as well, among other schools. In fact, in the past couple of years the program had gone international and had seen attendees from places as far as Singapore, New Zealand, Brazil, and the United States. It was all quite exciting, and even more successful than Harry could have ever hoped. It was also clearly having a direct impact on the new generation. Headmistress McGonagall had relayed to Harry multiple times that inter-house unity at Hogwarts was at an all-time high, and hateful rhetoric about blood statuses, be it Muggleborn or pureblood, was quite rare nowadays, at least within the castle walls.

But there were a handful of holdouts, purebloods mostly, who believed encouraging such socialization was dangerous and hoped to thwart Harry and Naomi’s endeavors. Though they were mostly talk, and not particularly respected in the current political climate, they were still a nuisance. And, being the boss, Naomi often cheerfully left Harry with the privilege of putting them in their place. How very nice of her.

“Come back,” said Draco, pulling Harry out of his reverie. “I need you.”

Harry smiled, crumpling Fawley’s note and tossing it into the fire before rejoining Draco on the sofa. Draco lifted his feet and wiggled his toes invitingly, and Harry put his hands on them again with a soft laugh, deciding to start work on the left foot now.

 _What Draco wants, Draco gets._ Harry had learned that one early on, and he never forgot it.

“You’ve got your dress robes ready for the gala, then?” Draco asked, once Harry was settled again.

“Yep,” said Harry. “Although I wish I could wear a suit.”

“You say that every year.”

“Because it’s true every year.”

“I like those robes on you, the blue and the black. It’s very understated.”

Harry snorted. “Whenever I wear them I feel like a child playing dress-up. I can’t wear robes the way you can.”

“I don’t even know what that means,” Draco replied.

“It means that you were raised wearing them, so you’re used to them. They look natural on you.”

“You’re overthinking it,” Draco said, his tone definitive. “It’s all in your head. I think you look quite handsome.”

“Hm, maybe,” said Harry, equivocating. “But when we get married, I’m not wearing any sodding dress robes. I’m wearing a tuxedo. In fact, I want the whole wedding party to go full Muggle.”

“My mother will love that,” Draco said with a wicked grin that implied just the opposite, but as though Draco was quite looking forward to the argument. “But don’t worry, I’ll back you up. I don’t want to wear dress robes either.”

“Good.”

They were silent for a few minutes, save for the small sounds of pleasure coming from Draco whenever Harry hit a particularly tender spot. Draco had his eyes closed again, enjoying Harry’s ministrations, and the brunet took the opportunity to study him unimpeded. Having lived with the man for over four years now, he’d become quite good at reading the subtle physical hints of Draco’s moods, though the blond was adept at masking them. But Harry was familiar with the way Draco hunched just a little when he was tired, or the way his eyes tightened when he was angry, or the small ways he fidgeted when he was nervous.

He’d also learned to recognize when Draco was carrying a secret. It was subtler than the rest: just a slight tension in his shoulders, a small shift in his eyes now and then. But it was there.

It had been there since he arrived home for dinner that evening.

“Did everything go all right at the hospital?” he asked.

Draco opened his eyes and looked at him. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem… tense.”

For a moment, he thought Draco was actually fighting a smile. “You know me too well. It’s very annoying.”

Harry smiled in return, but didn’t say anything, his hands still hard at work on Draco’s feet.

“I was assigned a very serious case by Iwu yesterday,” Draco said. “It’s the first one I’ve ever really taken point on and…” He licked his lips. “It’s a tricky one. It’s a pregnancy… obviously I can’t say too much about it but… well it’s the sort of thing that could go very, very wrong if I’m not careful, if I miss anything.”

“But you’ll be great,” said Harry, and Draco gave him a look. “You will. You’ll be careful, and you won’t miss anything. And Iwu checks all of your notes anyway, right? If there was something you didn’t know to look for, she will step in, right?”

Draco sighed. “Yes, that’s true.”

“She wouldn’t have given it to you if she didn’t have faith that you could do it.” Harry had met Adisa Iwu a handful of times. She was not the kind to suffer fools or to invest in students who weren’t worthy. She knew what she was doing, giving this case to Draco.

“Also true,” Draco replied. Harry watched as the Slytherin closed his eyes again, almost looking relieved.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?’

Draco sighed. “Damn you, Harry,” he said softly. He opened his eyes again, meeting Harry’s stare. “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry. I want to I’m just… I’m not allowed.”

Harry nodded, glad, at least, that his insight into his lover’s behavior was still as sharp as ever. “I understand, Draco.” And he did. He knew that Draco had to hold onto many secrets, as a part of his job. Harry had decided a long time ago to trust Draco implicitly. If he said it was something he couldn’t share, Harry took that at face value. Draco had never given Harry any reason to believe otherwise. “I just wish there was something I could do to help you.”

“I know,” he said, and he sounded pained. “Just... soon, all right? I promise.”

That brought Harry up short. _Soon?_ Since when did Draco have the opportunity to give details of his Healing cases to Harry? Unless he was waiting for permission because it was someone…

It was someone they knew.

Harry swallowed. Now the curiosity – no, more than that: a real _need_ to know – burned even more fiercely within him. But there was nothing that could be done about that. He would never push Draco on something like this, put him in a position in which he felt compelled to violate his oath as a Healer.

But now this secret had him nervous.

“I’m sorry,” Draco said again, no doubt reading the shift in Harry’s demeanor.

“Don’t be,” said Harry. “I know you’re doing the best you can. You always do.”

“This part never gets any easier,” Draco said. “There will always be things I have to keep from you now. I didn’t think… I never anticipated-”

“Hey, don’t do that,” Harry interrupted him. He lifted himself up, enough to turn and crawl across the sofa to Draco, settling himself between the blond’s jean-clad legs and looking down at him. “I know you share everything you can. And that’s enough. That’s enough for me. I will never ask anything more.”

“You deserve more,” Draco said. “You deserve everything.”

Harry ran a finger across Draco’s forehead, brushing along the edge of his fringe before descending down the side of his cheek. Even twisted in guilt Draco’s face had an ethereal beauty to it that made Harry ache, made him feel homesick even when he was right there, touching him.

“I _have_ everything,” Harry replied. His mouth descended on Draco’s then, partially to keep him from arguing but also just because he needed to taste him, to feel him, to breathe him in.

Draco kissed him back, almost desperately, his hands winding into Harry’s hair and gripping hard.

 _He needs this_ , Harry realized, as he felt the way Draco was trembling beneath him, almost as if he were frightened. Whatever it was that Draco couldn’t yet share, it scared him. And that made Harry scared too.

But if there was one thing in this world that made Harry less afraid, it was being with Draco, near him, buried in him.

So he took his wand and waved it, removing all of the barriers of cloth between them. And then he stroked, and licked, and teased, and stretched his lover and then, when he couldn’t bear to wait any longer, buried himself.

***

“Knock, knock,” Harry said, pushing on the partially open office door and revealing Hermione behind her desk, her head of sleek, almond brown curls obscuring her face as she bent over a length of parchment. She looked up when she heard him though, seeming momentarily surprised before giving him a small smile. “I brought lunch,” he said, which should have been a given. It was Friday, and they always had takeaway lunch together on Fridays.

Her smile widened. “Oh, good. I’m glad it was your week. I might have forgotten otherwise.”

Harry pretended to be offended. “How dare you? Forget me? Perhaps I ought to just keep this Kung Pao chicken for myself, then.”

“No!” Hermione cried, looking genuinely nervous for a moment. “That’s my very favorite!”

“Which is why I brought it for you,” Harry said with a grin as he placed her carton in front of her.

“Did you get spring rolls?” she asked hopefully.

“Of course.”

She was smiling at him quite brightly now. “You really are the very best friend a girl could ask for, Harry Potter.”

“Mm-hm,” Harry replied drily, taking a seat across from her and removing his own food from the bag.

“No really, if Ron hadn’t claimed you from the off as his best man, I would have made you my man of honor.”

“Laying it on a little thick, don’t you think? Besides, wouldn’t Ginny be upset to be ousted from such a coveted spot?”

Hermione gave him a sly grin. “Who says a girl can’t have a man of honor _and_ a maid of honor?”

“Greedy,” Harry accused as he removed a pair of chopsticks from their paper and set about separating them.

He was quite glad he and Hermione had established this tradition. It gave him something to look forward to at the end of every week. They had been having these lunches together since Hermione had started at the Diaphone Thickett Foundation eight months ago, and it allowed them to reconnect in a way they hadn’t really been able to for the past few years.

Before coming to the Foundation Hermione had been working for a private law firm that handled a multitude of clients. She had been able to pursue her passion for creature rights to some extent while there, but Harry knew she had also been beholden to what the partners wanted her to do, and only had the opportunity to work with non-human and part-human clients if they walked through the door seeking representation. On top of that, her work hours were long, and the job had a tendency to be stressful and fairly thankless, in many cases.

Then, last year, the Foundation found itself with a budget surplus and a desire to create a new department, and the Creature Rights Division was born. Harry, of course, wasted no time in encouraging Hermione to apply, and didn’t hold back in his recommendation of her to the man who would be leading the department. It all had worked out beautifully, and it meant he got to see her on a regular basis. Though they worked in different parts of the building, they made time for each other, most notably with these weekly lunch dates.

It had been his turn to pick up the food, and he, like Hermione, was glad. Hermione had a tendency to frequent the same couple of establishments, café type places, where she could get a salad. Though she knew better than to bring _him_ a salad, of course, he still got sick of roast beef sandwiches and crisps all the time. He liked to switch it up, never hitting a restaurant twice within a three month period, though overall he tended to gravitate towards Asian-inspired cuisine, anything with meat, rice, and big, spicy flavors. Hence the Kung Pao chicken sitting in front of Hermione and the Szechuan shrimp that Harry was enjoying.

Hermione ate like she hadn’t seen food for a week, and Harry watched her, amused.

“Someone’s hungry.”

She gave him a sheepish look. “I didn’t eat breakfast,” she admitted. “It’s a bad habit, I know, but… well honestly I just forget sometimes. I didn’t even realize I was so hungry until I smelled the food.”

Harry nodded. Hermione did have a way of getting caught up in her work and ignoring everything else.

“Ron’s been on me about eating more regularly, too, so…”

“So you’ve decided to imitate his eating habits?”

Hermione giggled. “Yeah, something like that.” She took another bite of chicken. “For a while he was convinced I was starving myself for the wedding. I assured him that wasn’t true, and I think he’s finally started to believe me. But you know how protective he is. Like a mother hen, sometimes.”

Harry smiled. He and Ron had that in common. Harry fussed over Draco in the same way, he was well aware. Of course, Hermione was quite protective too, it just took a different form. She let Ron find his own way with the day-to-day things, but if someone crossed him, or hurt him… well, Harry pitied the fool that made that mistake.

“He just cares about you, that’s all.”

She smiled at him. “I know.” She took a bite of rice and asked, “So, how was your week?”

Harry shrugged. “Nothing too exciting to report. Now that the summer’s over we’re less busy. It’s just the after school program to run now, and you know they’re so efficient over there they can run themselves.”

“Doesn’t keep you from going round a couple of times a week to check on them,” she replied with a knowing smirk.

Harry silently conceded. Yes, he definitely still liked to keep close tabs on the program, since it was his brainchild, after all. He wanted to make sure all was well there. That, and he also just liked to spend time with the kids, see the direct impact of his effort.

“It’s good to get out of the office now and then,” he said.

“Mm,” Hermione agreed with a hum. “I need more of that, I think. I’ve felt a bit cooped up here lately. It’s not as bad as when I was back at the firm, but…” She looked quite tired all of a sudden.

“Rough week?”

She looked up at him. “Yeah, you could say that.” He could see a flash of something in her eyes, but it was gone in an instant.

“What happened?” he asked.

She shook her head, then took a bite of food before answering. “It’s just this… this vampire case my team is working on. Honestly, I don’t think we should have even taken it. I’m not sure… well… my calling is creature rights, obviously, but the truth is, some creatures are much more disenfranchised than others, and I don’t think… well frankly I don’t think just because you’re not human means you have the right to do whatever the hell you want." 

Harry smiled at the indignation in Hermione’s tone. “What do you mean?”

“Have you not heard about this? No, I suppose not. It might not have gone much past our department. Anyway, there’s this group of vampires that wants to gain the legal right to feed from any human, regardless of whether they give consent. Their argument is that the way the laws are now severely limits their food supply, and since taking blood doesn’t cause permanent harm, and we can always magically heal the bites afterwards, we should just let them bite whoever they feel like.”

“But that’s absurd,” said Harry. “Why would your department even take the case?”

“Because we didn’t fully understand their agenda when we took it,” she said, giving him a look that conveyed all her annoyance at her own superiors. “We’re a young department and I think most of us are a bit too eager. Now that we see what they actually want, we’re trying to talk them down from it, trying to get them to be a bit more reasonable.”

“And how’s that working out for you?”

“Not well. They keep trying to equate vampires drinking from humans with humans eating meat. Obviously we don’t wait for consent before we kill and eat a chicken, for example, so why should they wait for consent before drinking a human’s blood?”

“But we’re… you know, sentient, or whatever.”

Hermione shrugged. “They don’t care so much about that.”

“I would have thought they’d understand the difference between us and chickens. I mean, chickens are fairly stupid.”

“Yes, perhaps,” said Hermione. “But is a creature’s apparent stupidity really a valid justification for eating it? And it’s not as if that’s even really our criteria. Pigs, for example, are considered to be quite intelligent.”

Harry scowled. “Please let this not be you trying to turn me vegetarian. You know how much I love bacon.”

She laughed. “Obviously not. I have no qualms myself about eating meat.” She took another bite of chicken, as if to prove her point. “I’m merely pointing out the challenges we’re facing in refuting such an argument. It’s difficult to do, from a logical standpoint, anyway. At the same time, though, there’s no denying these vampires are simply wrong. And they’re delusional if they think they’re going to get a room full of human solicitors to argue the point for them in court. It’s just… well it’s a bit of a mess.”

“Sounds like it,” said Harry.

“It does get me thinking, though, every time I put bacon on the range for Ron’s breakfast.”

Harry picked up a piece of shrimp with his chopsticks and looked at it. “Surely I can’t feel guilty with this though,” he said. “I don’t think anyone could make the argument that shrimp are sentient or intelligent. They don’t even really have brains.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “They have brains,” she said. “Just… no working memory, and therefore no real sense of identity.” Her eyes clouded for a moment, and Harry tilted his head, watching her.

“What is it?”

She shook herself. “Nothing,” she said. “Just a stray thought.”

“Mm,” replied Harry, not really believing her.

“Anyway, let’s talk about something else. What’s left on the agenda for you this afternoon?”

Harry made a face. “Unfortunately, nothing good. I’ve got Fawley at 1 o’clock. That’s about it.”

“Oh, Merlin help you. He’s awful, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“What’s he here for this time?”

“The Rowle situation,” said Harry. “Edmund Rowle can’t get what he wants from his ex-wife, so he takes it out on us. And Fawley only encourages him. I swear, he’s the worst blood supremacist of them all. I honestly think he plants these ideas in his clients’ heads, just so he can come after us.”

“You know he has no legal leg to stand on,” Hermione said. “You’ve nothing to worry about.”

“I know that. Still, all these nuisance lawsuits are becoming a bit of a… nuisance.”

That made Hermione giggle. “Aptly named, they are.”

“Yes, definitely.”

“Well, I don’t envy you that part of your job,” said Hermione. “You’re taking a stand on something much more controversial than I am.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” said Harry. “It’s taken a lot of effort to get people on board with some of the causes you’re fighting for.”

“That’s true,” Hermione agreed. “But it’s different. When it comes to non-human creatures, the issue isn’t hatred, or anger. It’s indifference. Most can’t be bothered to care, because they think the issue doesn’t affect them. The intermingling of blood statuses, though… everyone’s got an opinion on that, most likely a strong one.”

“And all the opinions contradict each other,” added Harry.

“Exactly.”

Hermione had a point. It was a more precarious situation than Harry would have ever thought. He had been so clear about what _he_ believed, going in, that he hadn’t given much thought to how he was going to work with those who believed the exact opposite. It was tricky business, and it sometimes muddied the waters of his own beliefs, much to his chagrin.

“The worst part is it’s really the children who suffer the most from it. I mean, take Rowle’s daughter for instance. She really just wants to spend time with her friends, do what she’s always done, be a kid. But now she’s caught in the middle of this mess.”

Hermione sighed. “Yes, that’s true. But think about all the good you’re doing that counterbalances it. If it weren’t for the Foundation, and your programs, the children wouldn’t have these opportunities at all. Their lives are changing because of it. Their worlds are expanding. They’re becoming better, more thoughtful, more open-minded people. You _are_ doing good, Harry. You know that.”

Harry gave her a soft smile and nodded. This was one of the many reasons his friendship with Hermione was so important to him. She had no qualms about remaining idealistic, even when the world around them was constantly trying to get her to be "realistic" instead. It was good for Harry to be around that, because the other two most important people in his life, namely Draco and Ron, had a tendency towards pragmatism, and didn’t always understand why fighting the good fight was so important. Harry often found himself standing somewhere in the middle, feeling pulled in both directions. Usually he saw that as a good thing, not falling to one extreme or the other, but in his job… well, he had to believe that he was doing something worthwhile, and Hermione was always good at reminding him.

He glanced up at the clock. “I should go. Fawley will be here soon.”

“Oh, make him wait,” Hermione said, and when she met his eyes he saw a mischievous glint there. “If he wants to waste so much of your time with this rubbish at least you can make him waste a few minutes of his.”

Harry chuckled. “How very petty and vindictive of you, Hermione Granger. That’s not like you at all.”

She grinned. “It’s the little victories, sometimes, that get us through the day.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m only human.”

“That you are.”

“So, let’s make him sweat a bit, and you hang around a few more minutes and tell me a funny story.”

Harry smiled. He knew lots of funny stories now, after his time spent with the kids a couple of times a week. Children that age were always doing and saying absurd things, and Hermione especially liked to hear about them.

“Very well,” he said, thinking. “Did I ever tell you about the time that Jamie Fletcher did some accidental magic and got his best mate’s hand stuck inside a football?”

Hermione leaned in, grinning. “No. Tell me.”

It was about ten minutes after one when Harry got back to his office and found Grayson Fawley outside it, waiting for him. He greeted the man with a nod.

“Mr. Fawley,” he said flatly, not seeing the point of bothering with the niceties or apologies on his lateness. Fawley would know they weren't genuine anyway. Harry gestured towards his office. “Right this way.” Fawley stood and followed him.

They took their respective places – Harry in the chair behind his desk and Fawley in the chair in front of it – in silence, a silence Harry was rather glad for. The less he had to hear the man speak, the better.

As Fawley settled himself, Harry took a moment to study him. He was in his mid-thirties, thin - on the borderline of gawky - and with ears that stuck out a bit on the sides. His face, however, was symmetrical and rather handsome, and his dark hair and eyes, as well as his perpetual tan, gave him a sort of smoldering quality that he knew others found attractive. It irritated Harry to no end.

He almost felt he could live with Grayson Fawley’s existence had he been some withered old codger whose star was already on the wane. The man’s blood supremacist leanings, while still being frustrating, would at least have been more understandable if he was from a much older generation. Human progress, in Harry's experience, was best achieved when older, more closed-minded generations died out and were replaced by new, more open-minded ones. The process was slow, but at least it was progress.

But Fawley, with all his youth and vitality, stood as a testament that there were still plenty, even within Harry’s generation, who held onto these problematic beliefs. Sure, the solicitor was older than Harry by at least a decade, but that didn’t matter much, in the long run. That left them many years before retirement to be embroiled in these types of battles. The very thought of it exhausted him.

 _One step at a time_ , he reminded himself. He would best Fawley in the end. He had justice on his side, at least.

“You know why I’m here, Mr. Potter,” Fawley said, getting to the point as usual.

“I do, Mr. Fawley. Your numerous letters were quite clear.”

The solicitor raised an eyebrow. “If they were so clear, I must wonder why this meeting is even necessary. Why has the issue not been handled?”

“Because while you are free to write me or my boss all the letters you wish, we don’t work for you, or for your client, so we really have no obligation to comply with your demands.”

“Mr. Rowle’s daughter attends your after school program.”

“Yes, she does.”

“And Mr. Rowle wishes for that to no longer be so.”

“Which is an issue he ought to be taking up with the former Mrs. Rowle, now Ms. Abbott, I should say, rather than with us.”

Fawley’s jaw clenched. “You know full well it’s not that simple. Clara Abbott subscribes quite thoroughly to the abominable mission of your program, and therefore has every desire to continue to send her daughter to you.”

“And as the parent with primary custody of Jasmine, my understanding is that she is well within her rights to do so.”

“And Mr. Rowle’s parental rights? Are they not of concern to you? You claim to champion the right of the pureblood to raise their children how they wish, to preserve their cultural traditions, yet you refuse to take action when _certain_ purebloods try to exercise that right. It seems to me you merely want to help out your friends, and actually have no sympathy for the pureblood agenda.”

Harry clasped his hands in front of him. “You certainly like to bring up the pureblood agenda quite a bit, Mr. Fawley.”

“Yes, well, it happens to contain a set of issues that are very important to my clients.”

“Yes, I’m well aware. However I feel a need at this point to be clear with you about some things. While I absolutely champion the right of the individual to live their life and raise their children how they see fit, this does not merely apply to purebloods. It applies to _everyone_.” Fawley opened his mouth to interrupt, but Harry talked over him. “Second of all, that stance should not for a moment be equated with the notion that I myself have beliefs even remotely in line with your so-called ‘pureblood agenda.’ And thirdly, it has been clear in my work over the past four years that purebloods are in fact quite divided on these issues and what you claim to be the agenda of purebloods is only really the agenda of a small group of them. Clara Abbott is pureblood, after all, and she supports our programs-“

“Of _course_ she’s pureblood,” Fawley cut in. “Edmund Rowle would have never married her otherwise. However, though the Abbotts are a part of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, they are… well…” Harry guessed that Fawley was hesitating because he was trying to find some way to avoid the term “blood traitor” in this conversation. Yes, the man was a blood supremacist, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew how unpopular such terms had become, and that using them in this moment would get him nothing, except most likely a kick out the door. “The more traditionally light families have always been a bit more flexible when it comes to issues of blood, and therefore we don’t count them among our ranks.”

Harry sighed. Another thing Fawley loved to talk about was the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the last remaining pureblood lines in Great Britain. He loved to rail about how they were being desecrated by those of Muggle and mixed blood and how some among the group didn’t appreciate the old ways anymore. Harry had no patience for it whatsoever.

“Regardless,” Harry said. “Ms. Abbott has the right to send Jasmine to our program, and seeing as how we are perfectly happy to have her there, we will not be interfering.”

“It’s in violation of Mr. Rowle’s rights.”

“Frankly, Mr. Fawley, that’s not really our problem.”

Fawley smirked. “Mr. Rowle is paying me handsomely to make it your problem.”

Harry chuckled sardonically. “Then he is wasting his money. There is nothing we can do.”

“Hogwash. The contract every parent signs when they enroll their child stipulates that you have the right to remove a child from the program if you deem it necessary.”

“That’s true. However, we must have justification for it.”

“The fact that one of the parents wishes it isn’t enough justification?”

“Not when said parent has lost nearly all of his parental rights through no fault but his own.” He saw Mr. Fawley’s entire body tighten. “That’s what it really comes down to after all, at least according to our solicitors, which I have consulted with extensively on this, as you can imagine. You go on and on about his parental rights, but you fail to acknowledge that, according to the courts, Mr. Rowle has actually not retained many of those rights at all.”

“That is another issue altogether,” Fawley said sharply.

“No, it is _the_ issue, as I understand it,” Harry kept his voice quite calm, knowing it would drive Fawley mad. “The man failed to provide a safe home environment for his child, putting her in close proximity to criminals and murderers during the time he was tangentially associated with the Death Eaters. Mr. Rowle himself may have avoided prison, but still, the courts had an obligation to protect his child. I thought they were quite generous in fact, by allowing him those supervised visitations.”

Fawley was visibly vibrating with anger. Harry made sure his smile was mild rather than smug. It was a trick he’d learned from Naomi, with some help practicing from Draco. It was important that he remain professional, as this conversation was on the record and therefore the pensieve memory of it admissible in court. He had to maintain every appearance of propriety. Still, on the inside, he was quite enjoying Fawley’s reaction. It never ceased to entertain him, antagonizing blood supremacists, ‘prodding the dragon,’ as it were.

“You’re out of line, Mr. Potter.”

“I hardly think so,” said Harry. “I’m merely pointing out why the law is on our side in every aspect of this case. But if you feel the need to attempt to take it to court, we’ll certainly see you there. We are happy to win and then have the precedent set for all future cases of this type.” He met Fawley’s eyes then, and held the gaze. “Of course, that’s not why you’re really here, as we both know. This will never go to court. You don’t even really want it to. You just want to keep bullying my department until we give in to one of your demands. I don’t know how many times I have to tell you that it’s not going to work. I’ve never been one to allow myself to be bullied. My history reflects that quite nicely.” It was not his favorite thing to play the Savior card, but Naomi did like him to play it on occasion, if only to remind their adversaries exactly who they were dealing with. Five years out from the war, some people had a tendency to forget, at least for a little while.

“You’re bluffing, Mr. Potter,” Fawley replied. “The last thing this foundation wants is a fight in the courts.”

“I’m really not bluffing, Mr. Fawley. Though you can certainly call me on it and find out the truth for yourself.”

His eyes narrowed. “Remove Jasmine Rowle from your program or be prepared for the fallout.”

Harry sighed. “No,” he said simply.

“Very well,” Fawley said, standing. “Then we’re done here. You’ll be hearing from me again soon.”

“I’m sure,” Harry said drily, standing as well. He knew Fawley was posturing, just trying to save face. But the man had been beaten, as was inevitable, and they both knew it.

Fawley walked out the door without another word, and Harry sat back down, slumping back in his chair. Well, at least it was done.

After a minute or two he sat up in his chair again, snatching up a bit of parchment to write a memo to Naomi, as he had promised to do.

_To: Naomi Thickett_

_Re: The JR Case_

_Talked to Mr. F. The situation is handled._

_H_

That would be enough for her. She knew the rest.

He folded the parchment into a paper airplane and sent it off with a charm to Naomi’s office, which was just down the hall. Then he sat back in his chair again, glad the weekend was only a few hours away and he would have the entirety of it to spend with Draco.

Hermione was right. It had certainly been a rough week.


	6. Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to Draco! This one has a little sadness, but also some Drarry sweetness, so hopefully it balances it out. Oh, and we get to see Teddy for the first time!
> 
> Thank you so much to those who commented! Every one I get means a lot to me <3

(Draco)

“Would you like milk or sugar?”

Draco glanced up at his aunt as she placed a mug in front of him and began pouring him tea. “No, thank you. Black is great.”

She poured herself some as well, then set the pot down and situated herself in an armchair near where Draco was already camped on her sitting room sofa.

Draco watched her closely for a moment, as this was the first time she’d remained still long enough for him to do so. When he’d arrived she’d been fussing over some substance Teddy had gotten on his shirt (something from the boy’s extensive collection of art supplies, it appeared), and then she had to convince him to go play upstairs while she and Draco had an “important grown-up talk.” Teddy, of course, was resistant, since his favorite cousin had just arrived and it was the perfect opportunity to be read to. After she’d finally cajoled her grandson into doing as she wished, she insisted on making tea, though Draco had assured her it wasn’t necessary. But she did it anyway, as if it were a compulsion.

As she sat before him now, Draco tried to ascertain if there was anything different about her. It was possible she looked more tired than usual, but that might have been his imagination. She was the single parent of a five-year-old boy, so she always looked just the slightest bit haggard anyway. Her dark, heavily-lidded eyes, so much like her sister Bellatrix’s, held the same fortitude and intelligence they always did, and her long, raven locks were clean and well-kept, though starting to show the first signs of gray.

All in all, his aunt seemed quite like herself. He never would have known she was sick just by looking at her.

“How are you feeling?” he asked her.

She gave a small sigh. “Almost normal at the moment, actually,” she said. “The dizziness and the cramping are gone completely. And I was having some occasional sharp pain in my arms and legs, but that hasn’t shown up for a few days now.”

Draco nodded. Those were all symptoms that were normal for the early stages of the disease, but they came and went.

“I definitely notice a difference in my magic, though,” she added. “It’s not… huge. I don’t think anyone from the outside would see much of a difference. But I feel it. Spells require more effort. The more difficult ones… sometimes I can’t even get them at all on the first try. I tried to conjure a Patronus the other day, just to send a friend a quick message… took me three tries.”

“That’s normal,” Draco reassured her. “With treatment, that can improve a lot.”

Andromeda nodded. “That’s what they tell me.”

“Have you given any thought to your options, since you met with the Healers?”

To his surprise, Andromeda started laughing, and he had the feeling it was at his expense. She gave him a wry smirk. “Yes, my darling nephew,” she said drily. “I _have_ , in fact, given it some thought.”

Draco smiled, realizing what she was getting at. Of course she had been thinking about it. It was likely all she had been thinking about.

“What I believe you were _trying_ to ask, as delicately as possible, of course,” his aunt continued, still sounding amused, “is whether or not I’ve decided what treatment I’m going to pursue, if any. And the answer is yes. I have decided.” Her voice was more sober now. “I’m going to do the charms and the potions both. I want to throw everything I can at this. I want to buy myself as much time as possible.”

Draco nodded again. He had been almost certain that that would be what she wanted. But a small part of him had been worried that she wouldn’t want to go through with it. “I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “The first few rounds of treatment are difficult, but as your body adjusts you’ll find you actually feel a lot better. Healer Kipling told me you can expect to have a year, maybe even longer, of feeling almost completely back to normal.” Of course, the monthly treatments would still be draining, but for at least three weeks out of each month she would feel pretty good. That, in Draco’s opinion at least, made it worth it.

“Yes, Healer Kipling told me the same. And it certainly is a good reason to do it. But I’m honestly not really worried about the treatment. That will be what it is and go how it goes. But…” Her voice had gone suddenly soft. “But Teddy…”

Draco bowed his head. They had arrived at the real issue at hand, the real reason he was there.

“When I first heard the diagnosis I deluded myself into thinking that maybe I could keep him anyway,” she was saying now, true sadness in her voice for the first time that morning. “I thought that I could…” Her fingers drummed on the outside of her mug of tea as she stared down into it. “…I could just leave him with you two, while I’m receiving the treatment, and then take him back and keep him for the rest. I thought, even if I didn’t feel well, I could be well enough for him. I could _make_ myself…” She took a shaky breath and looked at Draco. “But that’s really just selfishness, and unwillingness to let him go. Teddy deserves better than that. He deserves stability, not to be bounced back and forth from place to place. He deserves a place to call home, and parents that can take care of him all the time.” She looked at him pleadingly.

Draco reached out for her hand, and she took it. “It’s not selfish,” he said. “You love him, and you’ve taken such good care of him. You just want the best for him, and for a long time the best place for him was with you. It’s hard to imagine anything else. I understand that. But the most important thing for you right now is to have the time and the means of getting better, of letting the treatment really work. The best thing you can do for Teddy is give yourself that really good year, so that you can really be with him, not overwork yourself by taking care of him all the time.” He squeezed her hand. “Harry and I will take him. We’re ready.” He realized it was unfair, speaking for Harry when Harry actually had no idea any of this was going on, but he was sure what he was saying was right.

“Harry knows?”

Draco sighed. “No, not yet. I’m not allowed to tell him until you give me permission, of course. But I know the first thing he will say when I tell him about what’s going on, and what Teddy needs. He’ll say we should take him. I won’t even have to suggest it. He loves Teddy like he’s his own son, and so do I.”

Andromeda was crying in earnest now, though quite silently. Tears were flowing freely down her cheeks, and she brushed them away with a quick swipe of her hand. “I’m just going to miss him so much.”

Draco swallowed the lump in his throat. It wouldn’t do to break down now. Andromeda needed him. “This isn’t the end, ‘Dromeda, not by a long shot. We’ll bring him around to see you all the time, and you can pop over to us any time you like. The first few months will be hard, since you won’t be feeling very good, but then… there’s time. You still get time with him.”

Andromeda took a deep breath, then wiped her eyes again. Her voice sounded calmer as she said, “Yes, I know. There is still time. But it’s not nearly – not _nearly_ – enough.”

“I know,” said Draco. “It’s not fair.”

“No, it isn’t. And I especially hate that this is happening for him at this age. I mean, I hate that it’s happening at all of course. But at least if he were younger, he wouldn’t really be able to understand what was going on. And if he were older, he would be mature enough to handle it. But at this age… I’m afraid it will just confuse and frighten him.”

Draco was transported, temporarily, back to a memory of when his father had taken him to see his grandfather Abraxas on his deathbed. Abraxas had been dying of a disease in the same family as Andromeda’s, in fact, and he was in the final stages.

Draco had been eight years old, and he distinctly remembered the feeling of his father’s firm hand on his back as he guided Draco into the room, towards the bed. He remembered not wanting to look, but feeling as though he had to. By that age, he knew that showing fear in these sorts of circumstances was weakness, and weakness was always unacceptable.

Draco was already familiar with the idea of death by that point, of course. They’d lost one of their house elves, Mopsy, only the year before. But this was different, seeing it. His grandfather’s skin was sallow and almost waxy, like a doll’s, and he took these horrible rattling breaths that sounded painful, like there was a violent clanging in his throat. In a strange way, though, seeing his grandfather like that somehow made his death feel _less_ real than Mopsy’s, rather than more. Mopsy had taken care of Draco every day of his life, and her absence was deeply felt within him. Looking at his dying grandfather, it was simply as though he had transformed into something unrecognizable, something not really human. It terrified him, and made him hope that things would be over soon, for everyone’s sake. He never shared this aloud, of course. His father would have never approved of such a thought.

And then he remembered, perhaps most vividly of all, the argument that had ensued between his parents afterward. His mother thought exposing Draco to such a thing was irresponsible. “No child his age is ready for that,” she had said, her eyes a blue, icy fire. “You’ve only frightened him.”

“He needs to learn of the realities of death,” Lucius had replied with the kind of cold indifference that Draco was already used to. “When he is grown, such things will be less frightening, because he has already seen it.”

To this day, Draco still wasn’t sure whom he agreed with more on that particular issue. In a way, they were both right.

“Teddy will most certainly be confused and frightened,” Draco said to Andromeda now. “But that’s natural. There’s no real way around it, but he has a lot of adults in his life who love him and who he trusts, and we can all help him with that.”

Andromeda took that in silently, and Draco wondered if he had said the wrong thing.

“You’re right,” she said finally, and Draco let out a breath. She took his hand again. “I don’t know what I would do about this if I didn’t have you and Harry. It wouldn’t feel right, giving him to anyone else.”

“It wouldn’t feel right to us, either,” Draco agreed.

“I want you to know how happy I am, that I got the chance to reconcile with you and your mother. It has made all the difference in the world to me, these past few years. You are such a wonderful man, Draco. You’ve grown up so nicely.”

Draco wasn’t sure he could bear to take this at the moment. He held onto her hand hard as he said, “We don’t have to do this now, Aunt. There’s still so much time to say the things we need to say. I don’t want to say goodbye too soon.”

“I know,” she said. “But I need to say this now, because you are going to be taking my little boy as your own, and I need you to know how much I appreciate it, how grateful I am to you and Harry both for this, and for everything else you’ve already done. You need to know that I have absolute faith in you, that I trust you without question.”

It did, in fact, ease some of the fear within Draco, hearing that. “Thank you,” he said. He wasn’t sure he could manage much more, but he made himself say, “I’m very lucky to have known you, and Harry is also.”

She smiled at him. It was a watery smile, but it made Draco feel a little calmer. He had become a softer, more open-hearted person since the war, and beginning his relationship with Harry. But these sorts of conversations: intense, emotional, and deeply felt, were still quite hard for him. The feelings they awakened were sharp and unyielding, and they sliced right through him.

“Now,” Andromeda said, sniffing delicately, “with that out of the way we can talk logistics.”

Draco sighed inaudibly with relief and nodded. He could handle logistics. “Who else knows?” he asked.

“Right now it’s only you and my Healers.”

Draco nodded. He’d thought as much. “I’ll tell Harry this afternoon, obviously.”

“You can tell anyone you need to,” Andromeda said. “It will be common knowledge soon enough.”

“What about… my mother?”

Andromeda dropped her gaze back to her mug of tea. “That, in some ways, will be the hardest I think.”

“Would you like me to tell her?”

Andromeda shook her head. “No. I need to do it. I think it’s important that I do. I’m only hesitant because… because I know she’s leaving for France with Philippe in a few weeks and I don’t want to ruin their trip.”

Draco resisted the urge to scoff. “Don’t be absurd, ‘Dromeda. She will want to stay and support you.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of. I don’t want her to put her life on hold for me. I want her to keep living it.”

“She’s basically retired and has almost nothing but leisure time,” Draco pointed out. “They can go to France later if they want. Philippe’s chateau isn’t going anywhere. She won’t be upset to put it off, not one bit. What _will_ upset her is if you let her go to France without telling her about your illness. She’ll be absolutely furious with you.”

Andromeda sighed. “I suppose I’m terrified of everyone resenting me because now they have to work their lives around this… this _thing_ I have. I can’t bear it if that’s what happens.”

“No one will resent you,” Draco insisted. “My mother will _want_ to be there. It will matter to her a great deal.

Andromeda sat on that for a minute or two. “Yes, it will,” she said finally.

“Good,” Draco said, relieved. “So, you’ll let my mother know, I’ll let Harry know, and we’ll start making plans. When do you start treatment?”

“Next week,” she replied. “The exact date hasn’t been set yet, because I haven’t yet informed the Healers of my decision. But that will happen soon. And then we’ll be getting started right away, is my understanding. Which means…” She met his eyes. “You should be prepared to take Teddy within the next few days. That’s awfully soon, I know-“

“We’ll be ready,” said Draco. “And I’ll rearrange my work schedule, if I need to, to be home that day. So Teddy knows we’re all here for him. You just tell us the day and we’ll be ready.”

Andromeda nodded solemnly.

“The other thing we have to decide,” Draco went on, “is when we tell Teddy what’s happening. I think it should be sooner rather than later, give him some time to adjust to the idea. Harry and I will have some time tomorrow. Maybe we could come over and have the conversation then, with all four of us.”

“All right,” said Andromeda. “That would be fine.” She swallowed. “What… what do we tell him?”

Draco thought about that for a moment, about all of the sick children he had treated in the past year or so, and what they had needed from him. “We tell him as much of the truth as we think he can handle,” he said. “And we hope it’s the right amount.”

Andromeda stared at him, and Draco wished he could give her a better answer, that he knew exactly what to do in a situation like this. But the truth was, there wasn’t really a good answer to that question. There was nothing about it that was going to be easy, and that was simply a reality. It just had to be faced head on, like most difficult things.

Stomping on the stairs startled both adults from their silent thoughts, and soon Teddy appeared at the bottom of the staircase. Draco saw Andromeda quickly wipe her eyes.

Teddy looked at both of them for a moment, then entered the room without a word and climbed up on the sofa to join Draco. He sat very close, resting his head under Draco’s arm, and Draco ran a hand through his hair and gave the top of his head a kiss. Teddy was a naturally affectionate child, but he became especially clingy when he was upset or frightened. Draco suspected that Teddy sensed something odd was going on, even if he didn’t know what that something was. Draco tightened his arm around the boy, offering him reassurance he couldn’t give verbally, and felt Teddy nuzzle against his ribcage.

“All right there, Teddy?” Draco asked. “Did you have fun playing in your room?”

“Yeah,” Teddy said, sounding a little subdued. “Nana got me these new crayons and when I color with them in my coloring book it makes the pictures come alive.”

“Is that so?” Draco said with a smile, and Teddy nodded vigorously. “That sounds pretty cool. Do you want to show me?”

“Ummm, not right now. Maybe later,” the boy replied.

“I bet I know why you came downstairs, little one,” Andromeda said, giving him a warm smile. “You’re getting hungry for lunch, aren’t you?”

Draco felt Teddy nod against his ribs.

“What would you like?” his grandmother asked him.

“Chicken nuggets,” said Teddy, without hesitation.

“Ah, should have guessed,” she said with a grin. “That’s all he wants to eat nowadays. Chicken nuggets.”

“They’re good,” Teddy insisted.

Draco laughed. He had heard of this particular Muggle food, though he found it a bit strange, especially since the brand Andromeda bought had the pieces shaped into little dinosaurs, which seemed a bit random. He could only guess that Muggle children must really like dinosaurs, in the same way that magical children liked dragons, unicorns, and hippogriffs, and that somehow having their food shaped like them made them want to eat it more.

“All right, but I’m making carrot sticks and apple slices as well, and you must eat them all. Do you promise?”

“I promise,” said Teddy.

Andromeda looked at Draco. “Would you like to join us for lunch? I promise to make the two of us something other than chicken nuggets.”

“I can’t I’m afraid,” Draco replied, aware that Teddy was looking up at him hopefully. “I promised Harry I’d be back in time for lunch.” It was how he had gotten Harry to let him leave the house that morning in the first place, since he couldn’t tell his boyfriend where he was going or why. The only thing that seemed to placate Harry was the idea that he would soon be learning what this big secret was that Draco was keeping from him. “And as you know he and I have some important things to talk about.”

“You can’t stay just a _little_ longer?” Teddy asked, and Draco made the mistake of looking down into his cousin’s pleading eyes, which he had decided to make sky blue that day. “We didn’t even get to read a story. We didn’t get to do _anything_.”

“I know, Ted, I’m sorry,” Draco said, running a loving hand over Teddy’s head. “But I promise you’re going to see me again really soon, all right?”

“Can I come stay with you and Harry soon?”

Draco resisted the urge to look at Andromeda, to see how she had taken that question, instead keeping his eyes on the five-year-old next to him. “Of course, little man. Whenever you want.”

He soon bid goodbye to both his aunt and cousin and made for home with a heavy heart. He was not particularly looking forward to this conversation with Harry, if only because sharing bad news was never enjoyable, and it would make Harry sad to know the truth.

But the truth in question had been weighing on Draco since the morning he’d learned it, and he had to admit that actually being able to get such a thing off his chest for once was something he welcomed. Since beginning his residency at St. Mungo’s, Draco had had to carry a number of secrets. Confidentiality and discretion were not merely admired there; they were required, seen as one of the most important aspects of the job. Draco had known this going in, of course, but he hadn’t thought much of it. Of course he would protect the identity of his patients, avoid talking about the details of their cases from those he knew. It wasn’t any business of Harry’s, or Blaise’s, or Pansy’s to know what symptoms his patients were experiencing, what treatment option they had decided to go with, or what the results were. Why would he ever feel a need to share them?

But then he discovered something he _hadn’t_ thought of. What happened when he learned a detail of Healing history that pertained to a friend? The community of wizarding Britain was in fact not a very large one, and basically everyone he knew would come to St. Mungo’s if they required treatment, which meant that Draco was constantly learning things about his friends that he couldn’t share with other people, things he didn’t really want to know himself.

Most of them were fairly innocuous, thankfully, like how his old Charms professor, Filius Flitwick, had had a bit of a scare last May when he had to come in for some testing, only to discover that it was just some residual magic from a poorly cast charm from one of his students, or how Pansy discovered over the summer that a certain formula of Pregnancy Prevention Potion made her hallucinate quite frighteningly, and she was to avoid it at all costs. These were not things that Draco saw as being anyone else’s business, and so he had no qualms about following the rules and keeping such knowledge to himself.

There were also things he learned, however, that he found very difficult to keep to himself. Back in April, for example, he’d happened to see a potion prescription, just in passing, made out to Vesper Kemp, for a potion that would terminate a pregnancy. And then, only two weeks later, Vesper and Blaise began telling their friends that they had split up.

He hadn’t said a word to anyone about it, not even Hannah, though technically he could have gotten away with that, since she was a fellow Healer and all. But it didn’t feel right, somehow. It felt like gossip, especially since he knew no other details of the situation. He hadn’t seen Vesper’s chart, only the prescription. He didn’t know if Blaise knew about the pregnancy, if he had encouraged the abortion or was angry about it. He didn’t know if it was the reason they had broken up, or if they were already on the outs and she had chosen to end the pregnancy because the relationship was going to end.

Draco didn’t know anything, really, except that Vesper had been pregnant (she would have had to be, to be able to receive the prescription in the first place), and that she was pregnant no longer. Everything else was guesswork, and he had no one to speculate about it with. So he had just locked the secret up tight and tried not to think about it.

He was glad he wouldn’t have to do the same with Andromeda’s illness. That secret had been weighing on him quite a bit, and he was carrying enough already. It would feel good to share the burden with someone else for a change.

When he arrived home by floo he was immediately hit with a wonderfully savory aroma, and his stomach grumbled. He made his way towards the kitchen, knowing what he would find there.

Sure enough, Harry stood at the range, dressed simply in a blue t-shirt and black jeans that hugged him in all the right places. He turned to look at Draco, offering a smile that had warmth blooming in Draco’s chest, and it eased the ache a little from his conversation with his aunt.

“You’re just in time,” said Harry. “Lunch is almost ready. I made chicken stew. I hope you don’t mind. I had a craving.”

“Not at all,” Draco replied softly, coming further into the room to join Harry at the stove. He slid his arms around Harry’s waist, pressing Harry’s back to his front, and smiled when he heard the brunet give an appreciative hum. Harry was solid and warm, and Draco pressed closer to him, nuzzling into his neck, his hands exploring the hard muscles of Harry’s stomach and chest. He rested one of those hands over Harry’s heart for a moment, and the steady beat of it against his palm calmed him. Finally, he was home.

They remained that way for a few minutes in silence, neither of them moving, save for when Harry stirred the pot of stew in front of him or lifted the lid to check on the rice that was steaming away on another burner. His other hand remained ever on Draco’s own, their fingers interlaced together.

Harry knew something was wrong. He must have known it, what with the way Draco had been behaving the past few days. He knew it was something bad. But he seemed willing to be patient and let Draco take quiet solace in his mere presence for the time being.

When the rice was done, Harry gave Draco’s hand a squeeze and said, “Lunch is ready. Why don’t you grab us some drinks? I’ll have pumpkin juice.”

“All right,” Draco said, then gave the back of Harry’s neck a couple of soft kisses before pulling away.

They prepared the table in silence, Draco pouring each of them glasses of juice and laying out napkins and silverware, while Harry scooped generous helpings of rice and stew into two bowls and brought them to the kitchen table. Draco thanked Harry quietly as his bowl was set in front of him, and took the time to enjoy a couple of bites before he looked up at Harry, who he knew was watching him intently.

“This is delicious,” said Draco. “Thanks.”

Harry didn’t respond, still watching him. Draco took another bite of stew.

“You aren’t going to eat?” Draco asked him, noticing that Harry hadn’t even picked up his spoon yet.

“I was hoping we were going to talk. I was hoping that I was finally going to get to hear what has been going on.”

Draco sighed. He could understand Harry’s impatience, but now that they were here, together… he wasn’t even sure how to begin. “You should eat a little first. You must be hungry.” He knew Harry had gone for a run after breakfast, as was his usual weekend routine.

“Not really,” Harry said drily. “All this anticipation has kind of ruined my appetite.”

Harry was annoyed with him, or perhaps simply frustrated in general. Draco put his spoon down. “Very well,” he said. “I went to see Andromeda this morning.”

Harry released a heavy breath. “About what?”

Draco licked his lips, where some salty broth from the stew still clung, and realized the best thing to do was come out and say it. “She came to St. Mungo’s for some testing this past week, because she’d been experiencing some symptoms that were troubling her.” He glanced at Harry, to see that he was listening with rapt attention. “It turns out… well… it was a good thing she did, because as it turns out she has an illness called _Perniciosus Totus_. It’s a degenerative illness, in which little stray bits of her magic get released into her body, causing her internal organs to break down over time. There are a number of different types, mainly differentiated by which organs are attacked. Some types attack only one or two, some attack many. In Andromeda’s case, pretty much every organ is affected, to some degree, even her magical core.”

He paused there, letting Harry absorb that.

“What…” Harry cleared his throat. “What can be done?”

“There is treatment for it. She will come in to the hospital once a month for Regeneration Charms, which stimulate her magic into helping her organs repair themselves. She’ll also take a regimen of potions, one of which will help with the regeneration process and a couple that work to block the harmful stray magic and slow the damage to her organs. It’s a bit intense, all in all, but Andromeda has decided to go for all of it, since it can extend her life considerably.”

“For how long? How long will it extend her life?”

“Overall she has two to three years, her Healer estimates.”

Harry released another breath. “That’s not very long,” he managed.

“No, but it’s much better than if she got no treatment at all.”

Harry shook his head, obviously trying to take it all in. “So this… this is terminal? I mean, there’s nothing to do… there’s no cure?”

Draco shook his head. “There is treatment, but there is no cure.”

Harry placed his elbows on the table, steepling his hands together and resting his face against them for a moment, his eyes closed. Draco waited.

“How…” Harry began. His hands dropped, and he looked at Draco. “What caused this? Was it something… like an exposure… or something from the war? A bad spell? What makes someone get this illness?”

“It’s nothing she did,” Draco said gently. “And it’s nothing anyone else did. We don’t really know why witches and wizards get this illness. It doesn’t appear to be hereditary. My grandfather Abraxas died of _Perniciosus_ that attacked his heart and lungs, and I haven’t heard of any other Malfoy in living memory who’s had it. It just… it just happens sometimes. People just… they get sick. It just happens.”

Harry nodded. “All right,” he said softly, sounding a bit far away. “All right.” He seemed to come back to himself again. “What about Teddy?”

“That’s the other thing,” Draco said carefully. “This treatment… it involves time spent at the hospital, plus a lot of rest at home, especially for the first three months or so. Then she will feel quite good for about a year, a year and a half. And then the charms and potions will start to lose their effectiveness, and her organs will start degenerating faster than they can be repaired. And at that point she will start to decline, and will require at home care. We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, of course but… with the amount of time and energy that she has to focus on this treatment, it really would be best for Teddy to live somewhere else, in the care of someone else, starting immediately. Andromeda and I have talked and we’ve agreed-“

“We’ll take him,” Harry interrupted.

Draco couldn’t help a small smile. “Yes, that was our thinking too, so long as you’re up for it.”

“Of course,” said Harry. “He’s… I mean, we’ve been there his whole life, more than anyone. He’s _ours_ , too. He always has been, even if he didn’t live with us.”

Draco felt warmth surge through him at that. _Ours_.

“I agree,” he replied. “Obviously it’s going to be an adjustment, but I think… I think we can handle it.”

Harry nodded his head absently, going silent again, this time for a long time. Draco knew this was necessary, that Harry needed time to process all he had just learned. When he needed to be, Harry was certainly quick to action, and in everyday conversation had quite the ready wit, Draco had been pleasantly surprised to discover early on. But when it came to the bigger things, the things that required a great deal of thought, Harry did best when he was given the room to really think and consider. Draco had observed this back at Hogwarts, during their eighth year. When asked a question in class Harry was rarely ever immediately ready with an answer, like Hermione was. But if you gave him time, and didn’t put pressure on him, he _could_ answer, and usually his response turned out to be much more thoughtful and interesting than his “faster” peers. It was something Draco had learned to appreciate about his partner. He was beginning to discover, as he experienced more of the world, that true thoughtfulness was actually quite hard to come by.

So for the time being he was content to leave Harry to his silence and simply observe him as the brunet stared off into the distance, his mind in motion but the rest of him quite still. As Draco’s eyes traced along the features of his face, the shape of his hands, the lines of his body, he was forcefully reminded of the gravity of his love for this man. It wasn’t something he had really ever forgotten, of course, but rather something he was so used to that he didn’t give it much thought anymore.

In a lot of ways, the form of his love for Harry had changed in the years they had been together. Early on his love, his desire, his _need_ for Harry made him feel wild and unbridled, like he was trying to fly on a broom he didn’t have full control over. He remembered feeling a bit wobbly and off-kilter, terrified and exhilarated at the same time, holding on tight for dear life and hoping he wasn’t going to slip off and plummet to his doom. Perhaps that was all a bit dramatic, but it was what it _felt_ like, because the stakes were so high. Harry was everything he wanted, yet nothing he expected. He knew that if he were to lose him, it would be the most painful thing he’d ever experienced. Yet he also knew if anyone was worth that kind of risk, it was Harry.

And, oh, how that risk had paid off. Because though Harry was intense, and emotional, and sometimes even temperamental, he was also steady, and loyal, and true. And after a while Draco found himself on solid ground again, as their love settled, solidified, became something of substance.

He certainly didn’t want to lose the passion of those early days, and he certainly worked to preserve it. A relationship needed passion. But he couldn’t help but feel that the kind of love they had now was even better than that. It was something he could count on, like a house finally settling onto its foundation, or, better yet, dye finally suffusing into every fiber in a ream of cloth, taking it over completely, _becoming_ it. Harry and turned him porous, and Draco’s love for Harry had seeped into every part of him, into his skin, the sinews of his muscles, the gaps between his tendons, and through the bone, into the delicate tubes of his marrow, the deepest parts of himself, always there, always active, a steady, sweet hum in his blood. A part of him, inseparable from the rest.

“The key is, I think,” Harry said finally, pulling Draco out of his meditation, “to make sure that we disrupt Teddy’s routine as little as possible. The transition will be hard enough on him as it is, without him having to change the basic schedule of his day-to-day life. I think we have to be very careful about that.”

Draco nodded. “I agree.”

“So, he needs to do and have all the things he usually does and has. He needs to go to nursery school at 8:30 as usual, and be picked up at three, and have time at home with one of us after, and eat dinner as usual, and be in bed by eight. That’s his day. The weekends can be more flexible, obviously, but I think during the week, we stick to the routine.”

“All right.” Draco couldn’t help a warm smile as he watched his boyfriend consider what had to be done.

Harry sighed. “It means I’m going to have to rearrange my work schedule. I’ll have to leave the office every day in time to pick him up from school. I know we have the option of him staying there until five but I just don’t… I don’t want him to feel abandoned.”

“I think that would be best for him,” Draco agreed. “But is it possible for you, to change your work hours like that?”

“I don’t see it being too much of a problem. Naomi may be my boss but she essentially leaves me to myself, seeing as how I do all the day-to-day management of the youth programs essentially on my own. I’ll just have to make sure I don’t schedule any meetings after three, and if I still have work to get done I take it home with me to finish in the evenings, after Teddy’s gone to bed.”

“He can also play on his own sometimes, to let you get things done.” Teddy was very good at entertaining himself, and often enjoyed being alone.

“That’s true. Honestly I think the only real sacrifice will be that I won’t be able to visit the after school program anymore, since it will be during the exact time that I have to collect Teddy. I’ll have to find someone else on my team to check in on them occasionally.”

Draco frowned. That was a shame. He knew how much Harry liked being hands-on with the programs. “Well, I’ll be home some days during the week. We can work it out that I'll up Teddy those days, so you can check in on the program then.”

“That’s true,” said Harry, sounding surprised, and it made Draco laugh.

“I _am_ going to be around you know. You’re not going to do this all on your own.” He reached out and took Harry’s hand.

Harry ducked his head, smiling. “Of course. I knew that. I just know how hard you work and this will be more work on top of that.”

“I’m ready,” Draco said, giving Harry’s hand a squeeze so the brunet would look at him. “I want this. It’s like you said. He’s ours, too, right?”

The look Harry gave him was so full of warmth and love that it was hard not to leap across the table to give him a thorough snog. But it was hardly the time for that, given everything.

Harry, however, seemed to disagree, because he stood suddenly and made his way around the kitchen table, taking a seat close to the blond. Draco watched him closely as a hand came up to cup his face and Harry leaned in for a kiss. It was soft, tender, chaste, and not quite the ravishing that Draco’d had in mind. But it was perfect as it was.

Harry pulled away, just by a few inches, and stared into Draco’s eyes, his fingers lacing through the hair at the back of Draco’s head. Draco stared back, waiting, knowing, just from the discerning look in Harry’s eyes, that he wanted to say something.

“I’m sorry.”

Draco blinked at him, confused. “For what?”

Harry shook his head. “Not _for_ something. I’m not apologizing. I’m saying I’m sorry. I… feel sorrow. I’m sorry that this is happening. And you’ve had to carry it around for most of the week, unable to tell me, or really anyone, and that must have been hard.”

Draco let out a breath. Trust Harry to think of that, to think of _him_ , even right after hearing such upsetting news. He wanted to reply, but he found his throat suddenly tight.

Harry was running a hand soothingly across Draco’s chest as he spoke again. “And this is your aunt. She’s your family. I just can’t imagine… you must be sad, and angry, and scared, and you’ve had to hold all that in. It’s not fair. You shouldn’t have had to deal with all of that alone.”

Draco felt a sting in his eyes and fought it. _Dammit, Harry._ He _had_ been holding it all in, and he’d been doing quite a good job of it too, at least until Harry’s simple yet incisive observation had the flimsy pretense that he was fine – just _fine_ – crumbling.

“It’s all right, Draco,” Harry said softly. “You’re allowed to be sad. So am I. We can… be sad, and angry, and scared together, right?”

Draco reached out and clutched at Harry’s neck, pulling him so their foreheads rested together. Hadn’t this been what he wanted, to share the burden? He had thought so, but it wasn’t always easy, even after being with someone for five years, someone strong enough to handle it. Because even now, after all the work he’d done, he could still hear his father’s voice in his head.

_Men handle their own problems, Draco. True strength comes the day you learn to only rely on yourself._

But his father was wrong. He had been wrong about a lot of things. And Draco never, _ever_ wanted to live like that. So he gave in, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder, settling himself against the vibrating warmth of his partner’s pulse, and, finally, let go.


	7. Rewrite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of fluff in this one, guys! Oh, and some smut too! (Heterosexual smut, of all things. *gasp* Shocking, I know.) Fairly conventional stuff, but heed the added tags if you're really worried about it.
> 
> Thanks for the kudos lately! And, most of all, to the lovely people who have been commenting. <3

(Hermione)

“You almost ready, love?”

Hermione turned away from the mirror in her bedroom to find her fiancé staring at her expectantly from the doorway. He was looking tall, broad, and handsome in dark blue robes that made his eyes pop and glint like sapphires.

She smiled at him and nodded. “Nearly there. I’ve just got to finish my hair and put on my jewelry.” She had attempted an updo that would allow her to keep her hair curly, since straightening it was always such a chore, even with magic. It had worked nicely, in fact, seeming both stylish and natural on her, but something was missing. She dug around in the top drawer of her dresser and found a comb with a yellow silk rose on it. Hardly the ideal color, but that could be fixed easily. One wave of her wand and the flower turned an amethyst purple, just like her gown.

She’d put a great deal of time and effort into her ensemble for the evening, much more than she usually put into such things. But this was the first time that she and Ron had the opportunity to attend the Diaphone Thickett Foundation’s annual gala, since it was fairly exclusive, free for employees and donors but wildly expensive for anyone else. She’d always wanted to go, to join Harry, Draco, Blaise, and the rest in their fun, but the cost of the tickets was prohibitive. While she and Ron were financially sound, they had to be mindful about the ways they spent their money, unlike most of their friends. But now that she was an employee at the DTF she and Ron could both attend free of charge. It was another great perk of the job.

She inspected her hair and gave an approving nod. Yes, that would do nicely. Then she went to her jewelry box to retrieve her “nice earrings,” the only pair she really owned that looked expensive enough to go with her dress. Ron, however, stopped her halfway there.

“Hold on a moment,” he said behind her. “I have something for you.”

She turned to find him quite close, and she craned her neck to look up at him. “What do you mean?”

He extracted a flat velvet box from inside his robes. “An early birthday present,” he said softly.

She continued to stare up at him, bewildered. She’d already accepted her early birthday present: the dress and the shoes. They had cost so much more than she usually spent on clothing that she had insisted they treat it as her birthday gift.

He handed the box to her. “Go on, open it,” he said, a small smile playing on his lips.

She eyed him suspiciously, but did as she was told, lifting up the lid of the box and looking inside.

It contained a pair of delicate and tasteful sapphire and white gold drop earrings and a matching necklace. She stared at the pieces, partially elated, but mostly confused.

“Do you like them?” Ron asked. “I was going to go for amethysts, to match your dress, but the woman at the shop suggested these instead, so there wasn’t too much purple. Besides which…” He cleared his throat, obviously a bit thrown off by her silent reaction. “They sort of match my robes, which she said would be good, so…”

“They’re exquisite,” Hermione said honestly. “But it’s way too much. We can’t afford these.” She realized her tone sounded disapproving, ungrateful, and she hardly wanted to sound that way, but…

“We _can_ afford them,” said Ron. “I checked the finances before I bought them, don’t worry. With my bonus from last year, plus the compensation for my injury, it was actually quite doable.”

“Yes, but… but we ought to be saving that money.”

“We are saving a good portion of it.”

“We won’t be for long, if you keep buying things like this.”

“Hermione,” Ron said, a little annoyed now. “I’m not going to go around buying you sapphires and diamonds every week. This is a special occasion. It’s almost your birthday, you’ve been so excited about this gala, and you’ve been working so hard. I just thought…” He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t always…” He sighed, and Hermione felt her heart clench. She knew how hard it was sometimes for Ron to explain what he was feeling, and she waited patiently. Finally he took a deep breath and continued. “We don’t have as much money as pretty much all of our friends, and that’s all right. We chose to pursue careers that we are passionate about instead of just trying to make a lot of money, and I’m glad for that. I wouldn’t want it any other way. But I like to… I want to be able to show you that I love you and that you are special and that you _deserve_ these things, even if I can’t give them to you all the time.”

Hermione suddenly felt like crying. Everything from the past week was hitting her all at once, but it was more than that. She was both moved and disconcerted by Ron’s words. She loved that he had become so thoughtful, that he considered her needs before his own so much of the time now. She wasn’t sure if it was simply a result of getting older or if his job as an Auror had anything to do with it, but Ron had become a much more down-to-earth and serious person in the last few years. He hadn’t lost his sense of humor or his playfulness, which she was quite glad of, but he had certainly matured.

But the strange thing was, it made her uneasy sometimes, how much he had grown. Because it made her wonder about herself, if she had done any growing, or if she had just stayed the same. It used to be that they brought out the best in each other; she kept him grounded, while he got her to relax and lighten up. In some ways, that was still the dynamic, but Ron was starting to become adept at keeping himself grounded a lot of the time. Hermione should have been thrilled by that, and often she was, but it also had her questioning what she brought to the relationship. Ron made her smile with the sweet things he did, made her laugh by pointing out the absurdities of life and the world, and the way he looked at her, kissed her, touched, her, made her feel beautiful and sexy and sure in her own skin.

And that was all wonderful. But what did she do for him?

“I don’t deserve it,” she said quietly.

“What?” Ron asked.

“I mean, I don’t…” She swallowed. “I don’t _need_ it. You make me feel loved and special anyway. You don’t have to buy me jewelry.”

To her surprise, Ron laughed. “Well, no one really _needs_ expensive jewelry. That’s not the point. It’s just… it feels good to have nice things sometimes, doesn’t it? It’s good sometimes to… to have not just the things we need to survive but things that… make us feel good. I just wanted you to go into tonight feeling like you have everything you could possibly want.” He looked down at her tenderly. “Don’t cry,” he pleaded, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. Hermione knew her eyes were welling up, and she fought it, not wanting to ruin her makeup. “This was meant to make you _happy_ , you know.” He actually sounded a tad amused, and that made Hermione feel better.

“You’re right,” she said, trying on a watery smile. “And I’m bollocksing it all up, aren’t I?”

“Yes, a bit,” he said with a chuckle.

She managed a small laugh, then sighed. “I’m sorry. It’s been quite a hard week.”

“I know,” he said, pulling her into an embrace. She went willingly, enjoying the way he could wrap her up completely, surrounding her with his warmth. He’d always been tall, but Auror training had turned him muscular as well, making him not bulky exactly, but built, strapping. He could toss her around easily, and she rather liked that. It made her feel small, like a doll, but in a good way. He made her feel secure.

“I think you’ve been working a bit too much,” he said, after a minute. “It’s wearing you out, I can tell.”

Hermione simply sighed again and nodded against his chest. There was no point in correcting him, because she hadn’t yet gotten around to telling him the real reason she was so tired and emotional. She kept meaning to tell him about her parents and the hospital, but every time she tried she would start to imagine the look on his face, the concern, the pity, and something else, barely there, a disappointment in her, as if she had let him down, and let her parents down.

Because, in truth, she had. She understood that all too well.

She would tell him soon, she promised herself, once there was something to report. The Legilimens at the hospital was still in the middle of his assessment of both her parents, and she would be getting a full report on Monday. Then they would know exactly what level of damage they were dealing with, and could go from there. She would tell him then, when there was a real plan in place, once she knew what was going to happen.

Really, she would.

She pulled away, enough to tilt her head up and reach for a kiss. He obliged her, smiling.

“Does this mean you’ll put the jewelry on now?” he asked hopefully.

She grinned, letting herself feel some real excitement at the gift. “Help me with the necklace?” she asked.

He kissed her again. “Of course.”

***

The gala was held every year in the main ballroom of the Hotel Fascino, the most lavish and expensive hotel in all of wizarding London and a place Hermione had never had reason to visit before now. This was true of many British witches and wizards, in fact. Most of those living within the UK had little use for its hotels and inns, because anyone who was already of age had the means of Apparition at their disposal, and even those underage could use the floo network – or the Knight Bus, if they were feeling brave. Such rapid transport meant no need for a place to stay overnight, particularly when it was so expensive.

International and overseas travel was much more involved, however, and because of this the Hotel Fascino mainly catered to wealthy foreign witches and wizards looking to stay in luxury and comfort. They also made a great deal of their revenue through hosting events just like the DTF gala, as they boasted multiple versatile party spaces that could be magically transformed accommodate any affair one could imagine.

The DTF had clearly chosen to go with classic and elegant for their event, Hermione could see as she entered the ballroom arm in arm with Ron. The massive room was already bustling with patrons, and Hermione took a moment to look around, appreciating the expanse of ceiling, the intricate crystal chandeliers, and the guests milling about in smiles and beautifully tailored dress robes.

With Ron’s arm still intertwined with hers she walked further into the room, looking around for those she knew. The first person she spotted was Draco, looking resplendent and dapper in silver dress robes that only he could pull off. He was chatting with an elderly wizard in classic black robes, but the moment he caught her eye he excused himself, making his way over to them.

“So glad you’re here,” he said warmly, giving her a kiss then shaking Ron’s hand. He turned back to her, looking at her up and down. “Look at you. You look beautiful.”

She smiled widely, please at the compliment. He lifted a hand to gently handle one of her earrings.

“Real sapphires?” he asked.

Hermione gave a small roll of her eyes, unable to help it. “Yes, a gift from Ron.”

“Well done,” Draco said approvingly to her fiancé.

“A bit of an _over_ -expenditure, I think,” Hermione replied, watching as Ron simply shrugged and smiled softly.

“Nonsense,” said Draco. “A man should buy gifts for the one he loves. It shows thoughtfulness.”

“Oh, and you’re just always buying jewelry for Harry, then, are you?” Hermione asked, amused. It was hard to imagine Harry being willing to wear anything like that.

“Not jewelry, no, as you can readily guess,” Draco replied smoothly. “But I do buy him nice clothing on a regular basis. Designer Muggle stuff, you know. Since he has the body for it,” he added with a bright smile.

“Ah, I see. And how exactly do you get him to actually _wear_ such things?” she replied with the arch of a brow.

“By providing plentiful sexual favors in exchange, of course,” Draco said, without missing a beat.

Ron snorted. “Favors you wouldn’t provide otherwise?”

“These favors in particular are _quite_ special, I assure you,” Draco riposted with a carnal grin, before taking a sip of his whiskey.

Hermione glanced at Ron to find him a little red in the face, but probably just from mild embarrassment. Ron _tried_ to be open-minded, and certainly didn’t have a problem with either Harry or Draco’s sexuality. But it was clear from the beginning that there was something about Harry and Draco’s relationship that he found difficult to wrap his head around. Hermione readily assumed it was the long history of animosity between themselves and Draco that made the thought of him and Harry together discomfiting. Or maybe he simply wasn’t fully comfortable with the realities of gay sex and all that it entailed. Or perhaps the idea of Harry as a sexual being at all was odd to him. He had very pointedly avoided hearing about Harry and Ginny’s physical relationship as well, back at Hogwarts, although Hermione always figured that had more to do with Ginny than with Harry.

It had been a little difficult for Hermione to picture the two men together as well, in the beginning at least. But she had gotten quite used to the idea, particularly after one drunken night a couple of years ago when she, Harry, and Draco had shared a couple of bottles of elven wine and, as the night went on, a number of graphic details about each of their sex lives. Hermione learned things that night that made her look at both Harry and Draco a little differently, but had also shared some specifics of her own that she hadn’t been expecting to. While Harry hardly seemed to want to hear such things, Draco had listened to Hermione’s descriptions of Ron’s technique with unabashed fascination, as though he were hearing for the first time about a monkey who had learned to perform brain surgery.

“Where _is_ Harry?” Hermione asked Draco. Even now, after years together, the two were often joined at the hip at social functions, mostly, Hermione suspected, because Harry preferred letting Draco do most of the talking and schmoozing.

“Swarmed,” said Draco with a roll of his eyes.

He looked briefly behind him, and Hermione followed his gaze to see a small group congregated around someone she realized to be Harry. She hadn’t spotted him before, but now she could see him, at least partially, smiling graciously and nodding at something one of the other guests was saying. There were others milling about on the outside, sipping their drinks and casting surreptitious glances at Harry, as if waiting their turn for a few minutes with the Savior, but wanting to preserve some dignity while doing so.

“It will be that way for another…” Draco trailed off as he looked at his watch. “I’d say forty-five minutes or so. It’ll clear up, mostly, after that, and then we can enjoy ourselves.”

Hermione laughed at this characterization of the situation, as if Harry’s popularity was merely a spot of bad weather that had to be ridden out. “And you’re letting him go it alone, I see.”

Draco shrugged. “I stuck through for the first year we attended, but it becomes abundantly clear after a few minutes that no one is really interested in me or anything I have to say. Harry’s their hero. He’s the reason they’re here.”

“Oh, Draco, that’s not true. There are plenty of people here who would want to talk to you.”

Draco shrugged again. “It really doesn’t bother me,” he said. “Harry is Harry. You know how he is. He’s not obsessed with his own fame or assuming he’s better than everyone else. He makes people feel like they matter more than he does. And that just makes them like him more. How can I begrudge him that? Besides, I mostly found it intolerable because it was a bit boring, not because I was ignored. Harry has simply let me off the hook, allowed me to get away and have more fun than he’s having.”

Hermione nodded. That sounded like Harry, all right.

“He’ll join us soon, I’m sure,” Draco went on. “But in the meantime, let’s get you both a drink.”

He led them over to the bar, where Ron ordered a whiskey and Hermione a glass of champagne. Not long after they ran into Pansy and Theo Nott, and Theo immediately struck up a conversation with Ron about Quidditch, unsurprisingly. While Ron got on fine with Draco and his Slytherin friends in general, he and Theo had become especially friendly over the years, probably because they had quite similar senses of humor and a number of common interests, wizarding Britain’s most popular sport chief among them.

It took only a few minutes for them to get into an adamant but good-natured debate about Puddlemere’s chances against the Cannons the next week, and Hermione allowed herself to tune out and let Ron have his fun. She turned to Pansy, complimenting her on her striking nude gown which was covered in rhinestones and looked, frankly, like it cost about ten times more than Hermione’s dress had. Pansy was gracious, though, and returned the praise.

“That’s a wonderful color on you,” she said, looking Hermione up and down. Hermione would have thought her tone made her sound almost begrudging, except that she had spent enough time with Pansy by that point to understand that that was just sort of how she sounded all the time, as though she’d rather not be nice if she could help it. In either case, Hermione understood the compliment to be genuine. “I especially like the sapphires with it. A nice choice.”

Hermione smiled. It seemed everyone was going to notice her jewelry most of all, after all that fuss she’d made about not needing it. “Thank you. Ron picked them out actually.”

That earned a surprise arch of a brow from Pansy, but nothing more.

“How’s the little one, Pans?” Draco asked her.

“She’s fine. We left her with my parents tonight. They love keeping her, in fact. It’s quite nice. Gives me and Theo some time to ourselves on occasion. Anyway, she’s completely mobile now, so she gets into just about everything. I swear, things were so much easier when all she could do was wiggle in her bassinet and occasionally roll over.”

Pansy and Theo had married only a few months out of Hogwarts, something that had surprised Hermione at the time. Pansy had always been intelligent and seemed quite ambitious, and there had been talk about her pursuing a career at the Ministry, at least while they were still at Hogwarts. But after she was married Pansy elected not to work, at least not for pay. She volunteered at an orphanage and helped Theo some with his and Blaise’s investment company, but otherwise appeared to quite enjoy her leisure time. At least, until she gave birth to their daughter, Esmerelda. She was now a mother full time, with the help of her elves, of course, Pansy always emphasized. But all in all she seemed perfectly content in it.

“You should come by and actually _see_ her sometime,” Pansy went on in an admonishing tone. “Good thing we made Blaise godfather instead of you. He actually stops in once in a while.”

Draco scowled, looking genuinely upset. “That’s not fair. You know how busy I am, for these first few years. I try to be there as much as I can.”

Hermione kept silent, knowing, probably more than Pansy did, actually, what a sore spot the issue was for Draco. He had been fully expecting to be made godfather to Esmerelda and had been quite confused when he wasn’t.

“Oh, tosh, Draco, I was only joking. No need to be so sensitive all the time.”

Draco gave Hermione a disbelieving look and a roll of his eyes, clearly still put out. Hermione smiled at him in sympathy, but had to suppress it when Pansy turned back to her.

“So, how are the wedding plans coming on?” she asked. “Did you pick a venue yet?”

“We did, actually. There are these incredible gardens in Wiltshire that we found, a mix of normal and magical plants, and they have a gorgeous reception hall. We’ve booked it for May, which I think will be perfect.”

“That sounds lovely.”

“I think it will be. Now it’s mostly just worrying about the details of the ceremony and the reception, which, honestly, is all quite stressful. I wasn’t expecting it to be so much work, but perhaps that was naïve on my part.”

“No one can really know what it’s truly like until they plan a wedding themselves,” Pansy agreed sagely. “I thought I would go absolutely barking mad by the end of it, I must tell you. And Theo was no help at all of course. He didn’t seem to care one bit about the day. Said whatever I wanted would be fine. But that’s hardly helpful, is it?”

Both women glanced over their shoulders at their men. Theo had just snorted in amusement at some quip Ron had made, and they were both grinning into their whiskey.

“Giggling like schoolboys,” Pansy said under her breath. “Anyway, you can never rely on the grooms to do their share of the work. That’s what I’ve learned. It was all me, my mum, Theo’s mum, and Daphne, who was my maid of honor. The men had absolutely nothing to do with it.”

“Now, now, I remember helping a bit,” said Draco.

“You went to a cake tasting with me _once_ ,” Pansy countered. “And that was just so you could eat cake, and you well know it. So don’t go making it sound like some great sacrifice.”

Draco scowled and took another sip of his whiskey.

“Honestly, men do you one favor and they think themselves saints,” Pansy said to Hermione conspiratorially. “They never realize what women do for them day in and day out, do they?”

Hermione glanced at Ron again, knowing that she could hardly agree. Ron did things for her all the time, and he also always acknowledged the things that she did for him. But she hardly thought she’d ingratiate herself to Pansy by saying so.

“Ron doesn’t seem all that concerned with the wedding details,” she said instead. “But, to be honest, now that I have my dress and the venue, I find it hard to care about them, either. I think we mostly just wish we had all of that out of the way.”

“You picked out a dress finally?” Pansy said, looking genuinely enthused. “Tell me all about it.”

Hermione did, going into great detail because, well, Pansy did seem genuinely interested, and Hermione loved talking about it. In the middle of her description they were joined by Blaise and Daphne, and Hermione couldn’t help but note how relieved Draco looked to see them. He immediately latched onto Blaise, asking after him and his business, while Daphne joined in on Hermione and Pansy’s discussion, after the exchange of some pleasantries.

Daphne Greengrass was, in Hermione’s mind, the epitome of the glamorous pureblood woman. Tall, blonde, and willowy, she was intimidatingly beautiful and carried herself with all the dignity of her status. Hermione was always reminded of Narcissa Malfoy (now, Narcissa Black, of course), looking at her, although Narcissa had a kind of refined fortitude and self-possession that Daphne had yet to truly embody.

Still, she integrated herself seamlessly into the conversation with a social grace that Hermione couldn’t help but admire, although she felt a small pang at the thought that, because she was here, Vesper wasn’t. It was a shame because Daphne, while perfectly pleasant to talk to, didn’t put one at ease in the same way. Vesper had a talent for making a person feel like they were wonderful just as they were and should feel free to be themselves, and Hermione had always appreciated that about her.

Much to her delight Harry was also able to join them not long after, looking just a bit harassed but otherwise in good spirits as he gave Draco a light kiss before going around and greeting everyone else.

“You made it out alive,” Hermione said as he pecked her on the cheek.

“That I did,” Harry said. “Although it’s really the catering staff I have to thank, in this instance. They’ve just put out the food and thankfully shrimp cocktail and cheese puffs are a lot more interesting to most people than I am, so they scattered and let me make my escape.”

Hermione laughed, although she had to admit, at least to herself, that the thought of shrimp cocktail and cheese puffs was quite appealing to her as well. Luckily, many in their party seemed to agree, and they made their way towards the food.

On the way Hermione ran into more people she knew, including Penelope Clearwater, who greeted her happily. Back at Hogwarts Hermione had only known her peripherally as Percy’s Ravenclaw girlfriend, but now they were on the same legal team at the DTF and had become fast friends. Penelope was much like Hermione: hardworking, meticulous, and passionate about her job, and it meant that she was always someone Hermione could turn to at work when she was feeling frustrated.

They were content to talk shop now as they loaded their plates with food, and Hermione invited Penelope and her date, a Hufflepuff Hermione didn’t know, to join them at their table.

“Your man’s looking quite handsome tonight,” Penelope said in a low voice to Hermione, once they were seated.

She grinned. “Yes, he is.” Ron was now laughing and talking with Harry as he ate, looking happy to be catching up with his best mate. Draco sat on Harry’s other side, talking with Daphne now. Hermione couldn’t help but notice that he clearly had a hand on Harry’s knee under the table, as if it wouldn’t do to be sitting next to each other and not touching in some way. They did this a lot, in fact, constantly reassuring each other that the other was there in small, subtle ways. Hermione thought it quite sweet.

“There was a time I myself thought I’d end up with a Weasley,” Penelope went on, and Hermione turned back to her.

“I know. Many of us did. What happened between you and Percy, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Penelope shrugged. “We were too similar, I suppose. I don’t know. It stopped being interesting, after a while. Plus we could be quite competitive, sometimes, and I don’t think that was very healthy.”

Hermione nodded. “Well, at least you figured it out before things went any further.”

“Very true. I’ve met his wife, Audrey, a couple of times. She seems better suited to him.”

Hermione had to agree. Audrey was serious enough for Percy but self-posessed enough to not get wrapped up in his pompousness. In fact, he had become much less so over the years, and Hermione could only assume it was because of her influence.

“She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

“Due in December,” said Hermione. “Adding yet another child to the Weasley clan.” Bill and Fleur already had two daughters, Victoire and Dominique, and Teddy was still considered an honorary Weasley grandchild. Hermione could only imagine what it would be like when she and Ron started having children. The Weasleys could well have enough little ones to start their own nursery school, by that point, especially since Harry and Draco’s children would undoubtedly be counted in that number as well.

Dinner was interrupted then as a pleasant chime sounded through the room and Naomi Thickett, Harry’s boss, approached the podium at the front. Hermione had forgotten about this part. Apparently it was the job of every department head at the Foundation to give presentations on what their department was doing and accomplishing, in order to drum up more money for their various causes. It made sense, of course. This was, after all, a fundraising event disguised as a party. Still, Hermione was content to only half listen and continue to enjoy her food.

She smiled when Harry surreptitiously took the seat next to her and leaned in to say something. “Aren’t you glad they don’t rope us into this stuff?” he asked in a low voice.

Hermione shrugged. She actually wouldn’t mind it. In fact, she thought it would be quite gratifying to one day be running the department herself. But she and Harry were different in that way. “I’m surprised they don’t make you do the presentation for your team. They’d likely raise more money that way.”

“Believe me, they’ve tried,” Harry said with a wry smile. “But I made it clear when I took the job: I’ll show up and gladhand and get fawned over all they want me to, but I’m not giving any speeches. That’s where I draw the line.”

Hermione laughed quietly and gave Harry’s shoulder an appreciative rub. Harry had certainly become more socially gracious and politically savvy over the years, but she liked that he still maintained certain boundaries, so he never lost himself or fundamentally changed who he really was.

Half an hour later the presentations were done and there was an enthusiastic round of applause, Hermione was happy to see. Then the guests were encouraged to eat, drink, dance, and enjoy themselves as the podium was removed and a band took to the stage to set up their instruments.

“Ah, now we arrive at our favorite part of the evening,” said Harry. “If you’ll excuse me.” He stood and made his way around the table to where Draco sat. He placed his hands on his boyfriend’s shoulders and bent down to whisper something in his ear, making the blond’s face split into a wide grin. He stood, taking Harry’s hand as they made their way to the dance floor. Hermione looked on with warmth surging through her, wondering when the two of them, who had been so clearly and unwaveringly in love since the start of their relationship, were finally going to get around to tying the knot.

“Care to dance?” a familiar voice asked her, and she looked up to see Ron grinning down at her.

“Of course,” she said, finishing off the last sip of her champagne before following him onto the dance floor.

He immediately took her in his arms and started swaying her to the beat, and she was happy to follow along.

“This will be good practice for the wedding,” Ron said with a smile.

“I was thinking, actually, that we should take lessons in preparation,” Hermione said.

Ron pretended to look offended. “Are you saying my dancing skills aren’t up to your high standards, Miss Granger?”

“I think we both have room for improvement, considering we don't know much more than the very basics, and everyone will be watching us for our first dance,” she countered.

“Fair enough,” he conceded, after some consideration.

They moved together easily in silence for a minute or two, Hermione enjoying the feel of him, the smell of him, and appreciating this reprieve from the hardships of the previous week.

Ron chuckled suddenly, and Hermione looked up at him. “What?” she asked.

“I was just thinking about the Yule Ball fourth year,” he said. “I’m sure you remember it vividly.”

“How could I not?” Hermione replied drily. “We had quite the bad row, as I recall.”

“Yes, that was an awful night. For me, at least. I’m sure you enjoyed yourself more than I did, since you had a date you actually liked and weren’t pining over someone else the whole time.” He said it as though he were amused, but Hermione knew there were still little veins of hurt and jealousy hidden in there somewhere, even after all these years.

“I _was_ pining, actually,” she corrected him. “I was angry at you, of course, but mostly because I just wished you could acknowledge how you felt. And part of me doubted that you cared for me that way, actually, and that upset me.”

“Of course I did,” Ron said softly, bending so that his lips brushed her forehead. “I always did, and then when I saw you on Krum’s arm, in that dress…” He sighed. “You were the most beautiful thing I had ever seen in my life. It nearly killed me, right there on the spot. I nearly _died._ ”

Hermione giggled, unable to help a blush. “You survived, though, somehow.”

“Barely,” Ron said, sounding amused again. “And you know how? I went up to Gryffindor tower, surrounded my bed in the strongest silencing charm I could muster, and had the best wank of my life, thinking about you.”

Hermione was all out grinning now, still flushed as heat began to pool in her navel at the thought. “Naughty boy,” she said quietly. “I bet you did.”

Ron laughed darkly, pressing a kiss to her temple.

A faster song started up then, and neither of them had much breath left for talking as they both tried to keep up with the beat, laughing all the while.

After a few more songs they both agreed on a break, and Ron went to the bar to get them more drinks while Hermione stood to the side and watched the others dance. Some looked quite enthralled, like Pansy and Theo, who were pressed nose to nose, and Harry and Draco, who were dancing close as well, murmuring things in each other’s ears and laughing. Blaise and Daphne, Hermione couldn’t help but note, did not look nearly so cozy. There was a noticeable distance between them as they swayed to the music, and they while they were clearly having an animated and enjoyable conversation, it had none of the intimacy that Harry and Draco’s did.

“Here you are, my love,” Ron said, placing a glass of white wine in her hand.

“Thank you,” she said, taking a sip.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked her. “I can see your brain working away over here.”

“Just considering Daphne and Blaise.”

“Ah,” Ron replied knowingly. “I get the impression they’re just friends.”

“So do I,” Hermione agreed. “I’m just trying to understand _why_.”

Ron nodded, likely understanding that Hermione was referring more to Blaise’s relationship with Vesper than his relationship with Daphne.

“You’ve spent a lot of time with Vesper this week,” Hermione noted, turning to him. “Has she said anything about it?”

Ron shook his head. “She keeps pretty well silent on the subject. Almost obviously so. It’s like she goes out of her way not to mention him, really.”

“Hm. Blaise is much the same way.” She’d made the mistake early on of asking Blaise about the breakup, thinking that he would want to talk about it, as he had a tendency to be open with his feelings most of the time. But he’d become closed off, unexpectedly, and after that she avoided the risk of upsetting him by never mentioning it again. “It’s all rather odd.”

Ron sighed. “I always assumed they mutually agreed not to talk about it.”

“Yes, but _why_ ,” Hermione asked again.

Ron chuckled, giving her an amused look. “It really irks you, doesn’t it, not being able to find out?”

She pretended to scowl at him, but the smile in her eyes gave her away. “Yes, it really does.”

“Some things never change,” he said, laughter still in his voice.

They finished their drinks and then returned to the dance floor, joining Draco and Harry, who were still having a quite a good time.

The night went on and Hermione eventually forgot about her questions regarding Blaise and Vesper, as well as her other worries, as she danced, talked, and laughed with her friends.

Eventually she found herself well worn out, and told Ron so. They Apparated home in good spirits, although Hermione felt a bit like Cinderella after her carriage had turned back into a pumpkin. Most of her makeup had worn off and her hair was starting to come undone.

She decided to take a quick shower, having the sudden urge to feel fresh again before bed. Though it had been a fun night, and she had enjoyed the chance to get dressed up and feel fancy for an evening, she found herself rather glad to be back to her normal self again, dressed only in one of the soft oversized night shirts she liked to sleep in. Elegance and finery was all well and good, but freedom was so much sweeter.

She threw her still damp hair into a knot at the top of her head as usual, then brushed her teeth and inspected her face, making sure that the last remnants of the eye makeup was gone. She looked at herself for a moment, temporarily shocked at the transformation. She often felt this way after removing makeup, since the stuff made her look so much older, more mature, whereas her clear, supple skin and elfin features had always made her seem more naturally youthful.

In truth, she felt quite blessed to be born with the skin she had. It had remained fairly blemish-free through most of her adolescence, something many of the other girls at Hogwarts had envied without her even knowing it at the time. She hardly felt guilty, though. It was nice to have _something_ going for her, since it had taken quite a few years for her to figure out how to tame her stubbornly frizzy hair and get rid of those awful buck teeth. She had always been small-breasted too, up until a few years ago, petite, with no real curves to speak of. That made her feel young, and not in a good way. Pre-pubescent, underdeveloped. Ron never complained, of course. From the beginning he had outright worshipped her body, making her truly feel like a sexual being for the first time in her life. But she had to admit that when she hit her twenties and finally filled out, it made all the difference. She finally felt like a woman, especially when Ron had his eyes, his hands, and his mouth on her.

She bit her lip and reined in her wayward thoughts. There were other things to be taken care of first. She reached for the familiar tin sitting on the counter, then made her way out of the bathroom to find her future husband relaxed in bed already, shirtless, book in hand. Warmth filled her at the sight.

“How’s the shoulder feeling?” she asked him. She had managed to stop herself from bringing it up all night, but now she wanted to make sure he wasn’t uncomfortable after all that dancing.

He glanced up at her, taking her in for a moment, his pale, freckled skin glowing in the muted light of the lamp. “It’s all right,” he said. “No worse for wear.”

“Still, you were fairly active tonight. Might be smart to use the salve.” She held up the tin. “I’ll apply it myself.”

He smirked. “Well, with that sort of offer… how can I resist?”

She smiled at him gratefully, glad he was agreeing without much fuss. He wasn’t a difficult patient, all around, but he had a tendency to be brave about his injury, an inherent Gryffindor quality, to be sure. Admirable at times, but also frustrating, especially when he was feeling discomfort and wasn’t willing to say. Hermione had learned that she had to push treatment sometimes, just a bit, for him to accept it. He knew from experience, though, that this salve did make him feel better, and it was always more effectively applied with Hermione doing it, which was an added bonus.

She clambered onto the bed and straddled him, pulling the lid off the tin to reveal the thick, fragrant, paste inside. It was a familiar scent: the musky, herbal essence of dittany marrying strangely with a hint of mint and something floral and a bit sweet that Hermione had never been able to identify. She had been ambivalent about the smell at first, but now she associated it with healing, with a reduction in Ron’s pain, and that made it pleasant to her.

She dipped her fingers into the dark paste and began applying it liberally to the spot where Ron’s upper arm met his shoulder. There was still a scar there, a bit puffy at the moment, especially since it had been buried under dress robes all night as he danced and moved about. But the salve would help with the inflammation and keep him from being too sore in the morning.

She could feel her fiancé watching her as she worked, but she kept her eyes focused on the task at hand. Her mind, however, kept wandering to the chiseled, bare torso in front of her, the feel of the strong legs beneath her, and, most distractingly, the long fingers that were lightly brushing over the tops of her thighs.

This kind of touch always made her tremble, always made heat begin to pool between her legs, and Ron knew it. But she did her best to appear unaffected as Ron’s hands inched ever upward, under her sleep shirt, towards the sensitive skin of her hips. When he arrived there, though, he paused.

“You’re not wearing any knickers,” he said, his voice suddenly dark.

“Of course-“ She tried clearing her throat, realizing her voice had come out all raspy. “Of course not. I hardly ever wear pants to bed. You know that.”

“But still…” Ron said, and his fingers continued to glide along her body, finding the crease where her thigh ended and her pelvis began, one of his favorite spots, and then continuing up, across her hip, and back down the smooth globe of her arse. His touch was still light, exploratory, but with a possessive edge that had her shivering.

“Stop that,” she admonished, trying not to pant, though her head was starting to swim a little. “I’ve got to concentrate on this.” The salve was applied now, but she still had to rub it in, and very gently, so as not to irritate the injury further.

“You climb on top of me without any knickers on and expect me not to do some fondling?” Ron asked, his tone incredulous and husky all at once.

Hermione fought a smile as her hand continued to work, gently kneading the joint of his shoulder. “I expect you to be patient.”

“I don’t know _why,_ ” replied Ron. “I’ve never been before.”

She let a giggle escape her before she clamped her mouth shut, trying to control it. Ron, obviously egged on, let one hand wander up the side of her ribs, towards her breast, while the other lingered near her navel, caressing in circles that just barely skimmed the edge of her pubic hair on the downward stroke. She bucked slightly, unable to help it, and Ron chuckled darkly, a sound that went straight to her core, stoking the fire already building there.

“Dammit, Ron,” Hermione breathed. “Just give me a minute.”

His thumb ghosted, ever so lightly, over a pebbled nipple, and she gasped. “Mmmm, what?” he said languidly, feigning innocence as he stroked her again. “I’m not doing anything.”

Hermione closed her eyes, half exasperated, half enthralled, as the hand on her stomach traveled further south, skimming the throbbing button of her clitoris and going lower, to the folds of her entrance, exploring, testing the waters. Her breathing was harsh now, and his not much better. His other hand pinched her nipple, and she whimpered.

“You’re so wet already.” She opened her eyes to find that his gaze matched the awe in his voice as he looked at her. “Gods, ‘Mione. What you do to me.”

She knew already, of course. There was fairly prominent evidence straining his underwear at that very moment. She found herself pressing forward, rubbing against it, making him moan. He moved his hand well out of the way so that she could grind on him more, which she did, way past resisting her own needs at this point. The salve on his shoulder forgotten, she continued to increase the friction, all the while encouraging the continued teasing of her breasts by pressing into his hands, loving the dual stimulation.

Ron, clearly tired of the barrier in between them, removed her shirt with a deft yank, leaving her completely naked. His mouth immediately found one of her nipples, and she threw her head back, crying out in approval as he licked, sucked, and gently nibbled on one breast and then the other, just how she liked it.

She hadn’t realized that she was this worked up, but it suddenly crossed her mind that they hadn’t made love since the day her parents were hospitalized. It wasn’t intentional, of course. It wasn’t that she had been distant, or pushed Ron away. She had simply been tired, drained, distracted. But she found, now, as her internal muscles spasmed with increasing excitement, that she needed him, she craved him. And she couldn’t wait much longer.

Luckily, Ron seemed to sense this, as he clutched her around the waist with one arm and flipped her onto her back in one fluid motion. She shrieked in surprise and then giggled in excitement, before thinking, suddenly of his injury.

“Your arm,” she reminded him.

“My arm,” he said, his voice coming out a needy growl as he nipped at her bottom lip, “is fine.” He kissed her in earnest, passionately, desperately, and she let herself get lost in it for a moment.

“But I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” she gasped out, when his mouth released hers.

He shook his head, grinning down at her. “Must you always worry so much? Why don’t you let me take care of _you_ for a change, you stubborn woman.”

 _You already do_ , she wanted to say, but his mouth was on her breasts again, kissing, sucking, leaving little love bites that caused spikes of pleasure inside her, and she couldn’t speak. How could she explain, anyway? How could she truly put into words all the little things he did that made her feel so cherished?

_Especially when I don’t deserve it._

But that thought flew right out of her head as Ron descended lower, working his way across her stomach, and lower still. She was already arching in anticipation, the fingers pinching her nipple and kneading her bottom only stoking the building need for direct stimulation.

Ron paused, his lips hovering over her most sensitive spot, and Hermione watched, panting, waiting. She was about to beg him outright when he closed that small gap and kissed her.

She released a breath that was more like a sigh. The touch of his lips was light, but oh so good. He kissed her clit again, a little deeper this time, and she bit her lip, silently praying for more. When his tongue ventured out to taste her she moaned, encouraging him.

He’d always been good at this. She wasn’t sure what it was. A natural intuition, she supposed. When they’d first gotten together, their sex life had needed time to evolve, just like any young couple’s did. Ron was well-endowed, and the prospect of intercourse had been intimidating to say the least, in those early months. In fact, Hermione thought of the loss of her virginity more as a process than as an event, as she slowly got accustomed to having something so big inside her, as she learned to enjoy it, even. She took a great deal of pleasure from it now, of course.

But she had always enjoyed this: his mouth on her. Ron made sure of it. He always took his time, savoring her, as if there was nowhere else he’d rather be. And when his lips wrapped gently around her clit, as they were doing now, and sucked, she felt as if the whole of the world were suddenly concentrated in that one tiny spot, as if all the pleasure coursing through her body was suddenly pulled there, pulsing, unbearably sweet, and hot, and _good_.

“Ron,” she gasped, as the pleasure built like rungs of a ladder that worked their way up step by delicious step. She watched him, unable to help it, relishing the way his mouth moved lovingly against her sex.

Normally she would let this run its course, as it always did. She would come; that was inevitable. It was simply too good, and she could already feel it on its way. But there was an emptiness in her, a sharp need that could only be filled by Ron’s sizeable cock. And she wanted it – now.

“No,” she said, breathless. “I’ll come.”

He paused, looking at up her from between her legs.

“And that’s a problem because…?” His breath danced against her swollen lips, further heightening her desperation.

“Because I need you. Inside me. Right now.”

“Mione…”

This wasn’t how they normally did things. Ron liked to make her come at least once before he entered her. Sometimes, a lot of the time, she could come again with him inside her, which was incredible in its own way. But he rarely thought he had done his job unless she’d had a guaranteed orgasm beforehand.

“I want you to fuck me,” she said, her voice more breath than substance. “I want you to fuck me hard.”

He closed his eyes, as if in pain, but she knew it was just the opposite, for when he opened them the blue of his irises had darkened considerably.

“Please, Ron. I need you now.”

That would be enough, she knew. Ron lifted himself up off the bed, quickly removing his boxers before returning, situating himself between her legs. He kissed her deeply as he simultaneously lifted her by one of her thighs, positioning himself.

She was so ready for him that as he pushed himself inside it was nothing but pure pleasure. They both moaned in mutual gratification as he bottomed out inside her, his pelvis right against hers. She felt unbelievably full, but it was exactly what she had been craving, and she threw her head back, arching against him. He took this as permission to move, sliding out of her and then back in, slowly at first. But as she moaned and dug her heels into his arse he picked up the pace, panting harshly against her neck.

He rolled his hips as he thrust into her, so that his pelvis ground into her clit, giving her stimulation from the outside just as his cock was driving her wild on the inside.

“Ron,” she sobbed, clawing at his back with need, with approval, with desperation. “Fuck, Ron, yes!”

“‘Mione,” he moaned in her ear, making her smile in pleasure and delight. “You feel so fucking good. I will never have enough of you.”

She sucked on his neck as he drove into her, getting faster and faster, harder and harder, until it was clear by the way he was shaking that he wouldn’t be able to hold out much longer. Which was fine, as Hermione was approaching her peak, so close to the edge that she could almost taste it.

She rolled against him, matching him thrust for thrust, getting that little extra bit of friction that would send her over. She cried out as she felt herself reaching the crescendo, grinding against him and then stilling as her muscles clamped around him, spasming in a torrent of sharp, sweet pleasure.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” Ron said as he came too, erupting deep inside her, shuddering above her as he held her tight. She held onto him too as the last remnants of her orgasm subsided in diminishing waves of pleasure that felt right in sync with his still-pulsing cock.

They both collapsed simultaneously. “Gods,” Ron breathed in her ear. “I really don’t think a lifetime spent inside of you will be enough.”

Hermione couldn’t help but smile. Ron could be quite eloquent when he wasn’t trying to be. She let her fingers dance along his back, speaking her appreciation for her. She herself didn’t quite have words yet. She hadn’t realized how much she had needed this, what a difference it would make to be connected to Ron this way, after everything that had happened. It reminded her, better than anything else that night, of all the good she had in her life. And, for the first time all week, she felt true, unadulterated joy for what her life, and her future with Ron, would hold.


	8. Shadow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, another chapter from Vesper! We've been neglecting her. Let me know what you think! I have loved getting all your comments so far. <3

(Vesper)

“Is that going to bother you?”

Vesper turned to follow Declan’s pointed finger, which was indicating a group of their fellow Auror trainees gathered around a large table not far away. They were doing shots of firewhiskey, from the looks of it, Chadwick Dempsey egging the others on, the loudest of them all.

“It’s fine,” she said.

“I only intended to invite Green and Fischer, since they’re of the decent sort.” Vesper nodded. She liked them too. “But apparently when you invite one, you invite them all.”

She laughed at that, taking a sip of her own whiskey. Yes, the younger ones did seem to roll in a large gang, which was unfortunate. She was discovering that while some of them, like Dempsey, remained obnoxious no matter what, there were others that were actually pretty cool once you got them alone. She’d had pleasant interaction with Andrew Green and Kenneth Fischer both over the past week and a half. Still, Dempsey’s presence was almost enough to ruin it.

She had thought, actually, that it was going to be just her and Declan that night, grabbing drinks at a nearby bar. She’d gotten it into her head that he was attracted to her, and was sure that he would want to keep it just the two of them. When he mentioned inviting others she had been surprised, but not necessarily disappointed. She liked Declan. She liked him a lot. But she was way too mixed up to date at the moment and the fact that he seemed to be respecting that came as a relief.

Even so, they’d found themselves their own little table, just separate enough from the rest to have their own conversation, and that suited her just fine.

“How’s the whiskey treating you?” Declan asked with a smile before taking a sip of his beer.

“Great, as usual,” she said. He’d been impressed that she’d ordered it neat: no ice, no mixers.

“Got to keep up with the boys, I guess,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “I’ll have you know I’ve been drinking bourbon and moonshine with my Grandpa since before I graduated from Ilvermorny. I know how to drink. Better than you, probably.”

He laughed. “It just surprised me, is all.”

“Men are always surprised when women enjoy unadulterated liquor, which I’ve never understood. It’s like they think drinking it straight is somehow ‘manly’ or something.”

“It _is_ ,” Declan insisted.

“Then I must be the manliest of them all,” she declared before downing the rest of hers. She clacked her glass on the table and gave him a grin.

Declan grinned back and leaned in closer. “You’ve got bigger bollocks than most of the men in here, no question,” he said, making her laugh. “An admirable thing, to be sure. You want another?”

“Sure, thanks.”

Declan left her for a moment, and she looked around the bar, taking in the other patrons and what they were up to. The group they’d come in with was rowdy and already a little red-faced, currently having a laugh at someone’s expense, although Vesper couldn’t exactly see who. There were a couple of older gentlemen as well, seated at the bar and ignoring the noise, focused on their drinks, and a small group of men in business attire on the other side of the room. Vesper realized, as she looked at them, that she recognized a few of them. She knew them tangentially through Blaise, but not well enough to get up and say hello. One of them, though, Alan Picard, met her eye and gave her a nod in greeting, which she returned with a polite smile and a raise of her empty whiskey glass.

Declan returned then, two whiskeys in hand. He put one in front of her and kept one for himself, though his beer was only halfway finished.

“Double-fisting it, I see,” she said.

“Hm?”

She pointed to his remaining half-pint. “It means you’re having two drinks at once,” she explained, unsure if his confusion about the phrase came from being English or a wizard.

"Oh, right.” He smiled in understanding. “Well, I have to keep up with you, don’t I?”

“That will be challenging,” she riposted. “I have a liver of steel. It’s goblin-made, in fact. It only takes in that which makes it stronger.”

He shook his head at her joke, grinning as if in spite of himself. “So,” he said, “what did you think of the rundown they gave us on the departments today? Anything strike your fancy?”

She thought about that. “Not sure. I like the idea of something with a lot of field work. I don’t want to be cooped up in the office all the time.”

“Sure,” Declan agreed.

“Plus I would say I’m much better in action than I am sitting still. I feel like I’d serve them better with my dueling skills than my investigative skills, or lack thereof, as the case may be.”

“Oi, don’t sell yourself short,” he said. “You’re smarter than you look.”

She flipped him the finger and he laughed heartily.

“I know what you mean, though,” he said, after a minute. “It’s a lot more office time for most departments than I was expecting. I somehow thought we’d be out catching dark wizards all the time, bringing them in by the dozens.”

Vesper nodded. She had thought much the same. But, it turned out, there weren’t all that many dark wizards anymore, save for some holdouts left over from the Death Eater days. And those in particular were handled by the most elite squads in the department, ones that required experience and didn't take Junior Aurors among their ranks.

For the most part, Aurors dealt with much smaller offenses: illegal tampering with magical goods, the smuggling of dark artifacts or other contraband, and performance of experimental magic without a license. Aurors still got into scuffles and duels with these criminals on occasion, but it appeared as though Vesper’s dueling skills weren’t going to be put to use as often as she expected. The job was going to be as mental as it was physical.

“It honestly makes me kind of nervous,” she confessed. “I thought I’d be coming in with an advantage, with my dueling background and all, but that doesn’t seem to really be the case.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” replied Declan. “You’re a bloody world champion, for Merlin’s sake. You wipe the floor with the rest of us; I feel bad for any wizard that got in your way. Not to mention, all joking aside, you’re ace in the classroom as well. You’ll be fine.” He was looking at her warmly, and Vesper got that feeling again, like he wanted something more from her than just friendship. It made her stomach flutter a little, and she couldn’t decide if she liked the feeling or not.

“Well, you’ll be fine, too,” she said. “With all that investigation and curse-breaker experience.” Before joining the Academy Declan had worked for the Ministry in a different capacity, as a curse-breaker. The way he described it seemed very much in line with Auror work, and she wasn’t surprised that he’d made the jump.

“Yeah, I’ll be decent, I suppose,” he said.

“Better than decent.”

He shrugged. “I’ve always been very… competent at things, I would say. But never truly exceptional at any one thing. Not like you.”

She blushed and took a sip of whiskey.

“How did you get into it, anyway? Dueling, I mean?”

Vesper bit her lip and repressed a sigh. This was not her favorite story to tell. “Well, I used to be a dancer. When I was a kid and into my teenage years. I preferred it to school, for the most part. I just preferred moving to sitting still, I guess. Being active, you know?”

“What kind of dance?”

“Ballet at first, jazz and modern after that… and, when I got older, ballroom, swing, hip-hop, you name it.”

“I don’t know what half of those things are that you just named,” he admitted.

She smiled. “Don’t worry about it. Suffice it to say that if it involved moving to music, I was interested.”

“I see. So what changed?”

She swallowed. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what made you move away from dance and into dueling?”

Her grip on her glass tightened, and for a moment she considered making something up rather than telling the truth. She wasn’t ashamed of this part of her personal history, not by any stretch, but it wasn’t exactly fitting for casual conversation. There were some people, Harry Potter being a prime example, who she felt she could tell without hesitation, because they had been through enough trauma themselves that they would know better than to look at her or treat her differently. But most people, well… learning the truth always seemed to change things between them, even just a little. She wasn’t looking forward to the pitying look that Declan would undoubtedly give her.

“I was… when I was fifteen I was assaulted.” She cleared her throat. “Sexually. And um… well what is there to say besides that it kind of messed me up for a while? I was in a pretty dark place for a few months and then… I don’t know. I got a Mind Healer, obviously. My parents made sure of that. And I figured out that what I really needed was to feel safe, feel like I could take care of myself and like if something like that were to happen again I could…” She swallowed, her own words unnerving her. “Protect myself.” She risked a glance at Declan to find that he was looking at her, not with pity necessarily, but with compassion. It spurred her on. “My uncle is a world class dueling instructor and I asked him for lessons, just self-defense kind of stuff and one thing led to another and I found I really liked it. So I decided to start competing and…” She shrugged. “The rest is history.”

Declan was watching her intently, and she realized she was barely breathing, waiting for his response.

“Wow. Talk about turning something horrible into something extraordinary,” he said finally.

She looked at him, surprised. “I’ve never thought about it like that before.”

Declan smiled. “You remind me of my sister, Bridget, a little. She was in a really bad marriage. Abusive. It took her a couple of years to figure it out, that she deserved better, but once she did… once she took charge of her own life, it was like she was a whole new person. She’s devoted her life to helping other women get out of bad situations. She turned her pain into something good, into something that helped people. I think that’s really admirable. Because… I mean, bad things happen, you know? We can’t avoid it.”

“Try as we might,” Vesper said, staring into her whiskey glass.

“Indeed. But there’s nothing we can do, a lot of the time, to stop bad things from happening. But it’s what we do _afterward_ that matters. That’s when we know who we really are.”

Vesper had to admit that Declan was far exceeding her expectations at every turn. She couldn’t help but smile at him, feeling more warmly towards him than ever.

“Another round?” she asked, seeing that his beer glass was empty and his whiskey glass nearly so.

“Sure, I’ll get them.”

“No, no,” she said, placing a hand on his arm to stop him from getting up. “It’s my turn. What’ll you have?”

He glanced down at her hand for a moment, then back up at her face, his eyes glinting a little in a way that made her stomach somersault. “I’ll have another summer ale. Thanks.”

She left the table and made her way to the bar, a little flustered. Did she like Declan like… like _that_? She wasn’t entirely sure what she was feeling. He was so easy to talk to, and had surprising depth as well. He was just the type of guy, in her pre-Blaise days, that she would have gone for. But then again, none of her relationships before Blaise really lasted.

Not that the one with Blaise had lasted either.

“Two summer ales, please,” she told the bartender once she had his attention.

“Those both for you, love?” said an amused voice to her right. She turned to see a blond wizard who was probably in his early thirties looking at her with an interested twinkle in his eye.

“No, they’re not,” she said, giving him what she hoped was a friendly but not flirty smile. “They’re for me and my friend.” She indicated the table where Declan sat, waiting for her.

“Ah, I see. Too bad. I was going to offer to buy you a drink myself.”

“Kind offer, but I’m all set, thanks.”

“Anytime, love,” he replied, as the bartender put the two pints of ale in front of her. “You ever get tired of him, you just come back here, then.”

“I don’t see that happening,” she said brightly as she paid for the drinks.

Relieved to be going, she grabbed the drinks and headed back to the table, handing Declan his.

“Thanks,” he said. He glanced over at the bar. “Getting chatted up, I see.”

She rolled her eyes. “Just the usual conversational do-si-do. Nothing all that interesting to report.”

“You get hit on a lot, don’t you?”

Vesper was about to protest, but then she really thought about it. In actuality, she _did_ get hit on a lot. She didn’t really understand why exactly. She’d never been what one would consider conventionally pretty. Her features were a bit too sharp to be truly feminine. Her brow was defined, her jaw square, her nose angular and prominent. She hardly had the soft, delicate features of a beauty like, say, Daphne Greengrass.

Just as an example.

Her body, too, was more androgynous than it was feminine. She’d spent most of her life choosing function over form, and as a result athleticism had stolen most of her curves. There was little softness to be found anywhere. Personally, she liked this about herself. The stronger she was, the more she could do. But some of the men she had known had not quite agreed. Her boyfriend at Ilvermorny once commented offhand that it was too bad she had no breasts to speak of. She had laughed that off at the time, to save face, but it had stung.

On top of that, her hair was stringy, limp, and nondescript in color. Maybe if it had the intriguing texture of Hermione’s or the eye-catching color of Ginny Weasley’s she could do something with it. But as it was it was just sort of there, just another thing that made her average in the looks department.

And yet men were drawn to her. They had been since she was a teenager. And she had no idea why.

“I guess I’m just nice and approachable,” she said with a shrug. Declan narrowed his eyes thoughtfully but said nothing. “So, do you have any other siblings besides that sister you mentioned?” she asked, looking to change the subject.

He nodded. “I have a younger brother as well. My sister is older than me, so that puts me in the middle.”

“Same here! I’m a middle child too. I have an older brother and a younger one.”

“Do you like it, being in the middle?”

Vesper shrugged. “It’s ok, I guess. It’s hard to know where I fit in, sometimes.”

“For me as well. Actually, my case is a bit extreme, since my parents are Muggles, and I’m the only magical child they had.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It was especially tough when I was a kid. Weird stuff was always happening to me, you know how it goes. And my parents were working class folks, not a lot of money, not the most open-minded people. It was rough going at first. I felt very alienated.”

Vesper nodded. “That sounds rough.”

“It got better once I got my Hogwarts letter and Albus Dumbledore came to explain to me and my parents that I was a wizard. It was like a revelation. Suddenly everything made sense.”

“How did your parents react?”

“Shocked, mostly, they were. But they got accustomed to the idea after a while. And my siblings thought it was ace. They weren’t jealous at all, which was surprising.”

She smiled. “That’s great. So you stay in touch with them?”

“With my siblings more than my parents, honestly, but yeah, sure. I go home for Christmas and the like. What about you? You close with your brothers?”

“Sort of. I used to be, at least. I don’t go home all that much, so communication is tough. And we’re all really different. I get along with my younger brother more than my older one. He just…” She trailed off. “Ok, this is going to sound bad, but it’s just that he doesn’t judge me as much, you know, for my choices. He’s a laid back guy, has a ‘live and let live’ kind of attitude that I really like.”

“Your other brother judges you?”

Vesper shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. Archer, that’s the older one, he’s like a perfect blend of my parents. He’s intellectual, and thoughtful, and hardworking, and he followed this very set path that they wanted for him. He went into academics, just like they did, he was in Horned Serpent, which was my mom’s house at Ilvermorny. My dad’s from the UK actually, and he was in Ravenclaw, which is very similar. They’re just like three peas in a pod, and then I came along and I… I didn’t really fit in. My mom says it’s because I have ‘an independent spirit.’”

He smiled. “Yeah, I can see that.”

“They weren’t surprised when I was immediately sorted into Thunderbird, but I could tell they were disappointed.”

“And your younger brother, where does he fit in?”

“He doesn’t really. We’re similar in that way. In some ways he’s actually been more of a disappointment to our parents than I have. They couldn’t relate to the fact that I liked dance and dueling more than schoolwork, but they understood that it was just a part of my nature. For Silas… well, he was one of those rarities that got selected for two houses when he was sorted.”

“Two houses?” Declan asked, his brow furrowing.

“Sometimes, very rarely, more than one house will try to vie for a student during the sorting. When that happens the student gets to choose which house they’d prefer. Silas had a choice between Horned Serpent and Pukwudgie, and he chose Pukwudgie. My parents, my mom especially, had a field day over that. She didn’t understand at all.”

“So he has an independent spirit too.”

“ _Oh_ yeah,” Vesper agreed. “He marches to the beat of his own drum for sure. He never really does anything our parents expect of him. It sort of inches me out of my spot as black sheep of the family, but I’m fine with that.”

Declan laughed. “Understandably. I doubt anyone really wants that position.”

“I don’t know. Honestly it seems like Silas has kind of embraced it by this point. He doesn’t really care what other people think. I envy him that.”

Declan considered that. “That would be nice, but I always wonder… people who seem to not care… I always wonder if maybe they secretly do anyway, and they’re just good at hiding it. I mean honestly, I would say the same about you. You seem very comfortable in your own skin, content to do what you want. I’d never guess you had any self-consciousness at all.”

“Really?” she asked, tilting her head.

“Really. But obviously you do. Everybody does. That’s like… just being human, right?”

She thought about that. “I guess you’re right.” She gave him a smile that he returned readily. She really liked him. She liked him more and more as time went on.

“Oi, you two!” called Fischer, getting their attention. “You going to ignore us all night or what?”

“Yeah, come over here,” Green chimed in. “We’re having a debate and we need your input.”

Declan looked at Vesper, raising his eyebrows in a silent question.

She shrugged. “May as well. Ron did tell me to make more of an effort to get to know them.”

They picked up their pints and went over to join their fellow trainees, where they were met with enthusiasm.

“All right, what’s the debate, then?” Declan asked.

“Whether Kemp can beat any of us at arm wrestling,” said Fischer with a grin. “Me, I’m out of shape, and she’s got the muscle, so I bet she can beat me no problem. Dempsey disagrees.”

Vesper glanced at Dempsey, who was looking at her with a dangerous glint in his eyes. Of course he did. He’d had it out for her since day one. She turned back to Fischer. “I honestly have no idea if I could beat you. I can beat both my brothers, I’ll tell you that.”

“Good enough for me,” said Fischer.

“No, she’s got to prove it,” said Dempsey. “I’ll wager five galleons you could beat her.”

“I’ll take that bet,” said Declan, giving Vesper a wink.

“Me too,” said Green.

“My money’s on Fischer,” said Abernathy.

One by one, they all anted up, about half going for Vesper and the other half for Fischer.

“I’d bet on you, but then you’d suspect me of throwing the contest,” Fischer said to her with a smile as they cleared enough space on the table for them to place their elbows down.

“You’d better not throw it,” she warned him. “If I win this thing, I win it fair and square.”

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied with a grin, getting into position. He looked around the room. “Wands away, lads. No magical interference here.”

Vesper clasped his hand, grounding herself in her chair. She really had no idea what would happen. Fischer may have even been hustling her. It did take a lot for a woman to have upper body strength comparable to a man’s. But she didn’t much care. If this was how she got in with the boys, then so be it, even if she lost.

“Ready…” said Declan, who was apparently acting as referee. Fischer’s hand tightened in hers. “Go!”

She pushed as hard as she could, drawing strength from her core, but Fischer was strong too, and he put up one hell of a fight. She wasn’t sure this was going to end well, but she kept pushing, aware that her face was screwed up with the effort. But then again, so was Fischer’s, and he hadn’t gotten her to give an inch.

Suddenly, amazingly, his strength started to wane, and she was edging him downwards.

“Shit, shit, shit!” he yelled, half laughing, half growling as his hand fell before hitting the table with a _thunk_.

Vesper threw up her arms in victory, and everyone at the table cheered, except Dempsey, of course.

“Damn woman, you’re strong,” said Fischer, shaking out his hand.

“So are you,” she said with a grin. “I thought you had me for a minute there.”

“I want a go,” said Abernathy, standing up to try and take Fischer’s place.

“Me too,” said O’Rourke. “I want next.”

“Y’all are gonna wear me out,” Vesper said, rolling her shoulder. “But fine. Let’s see how this goes.”

She was able to beat Abernathy, but not O’Rourke, and by the time Green stepped up to take his turn, she was really feeling the strain.

“This and then I’m done,” she told them, and they all groaned. “Why don’t you all arm wrestle each other if you want to so badly?” she said.

“Because it’s a lot more fun to watch you,” said Fischer.

Vesper sighed. This was the downside, sometimes, of being the only woman among a group of men. You were either ignored outright or the constant center of attention. And she got the latter, more often than not.

Thankfully they did grow bored of the game after a little while, and focus turned back to drinking and loud conversation. Vesper let herself relax, joining in only when she felt like it, but otherwise just listening. Most of the trainees had known each other for years, of course, having all been together at Hogwarts around the same time, and they had all sorts of inside jokes funny anecdotes about each other.

In the end Vesper was glad she and Declan had joined them. It was clear she and Dempsey were never going to be friendly, the way he kept sneering at her all night, but she didn’t care. She’d connected with most of the others, and they were treating her more like a colleague than they had that first week. All in all, it was progress.

But eventually she was ready to call it a night, especially since they had training first thing the next morning, and she bid them all goodbye.

“I’ll walk you,” Declan said, standing up abruptly. Vesper saw some of the others exchange knowing looks, and gathered that they suspected the same thing she did. No doubt they would be gossiping about it after she and Declan were gone.

They left the bar, heading down the block towards the closest Apparition point.

“Would you like me to Apparate with you?” he asked her. “Make sure you get home safe?”

She smiled but shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m good.”

“You sure? It’s not always safe out here, even for a badarse girl like you. I really don’t mind.”

“I know, but I’ll be fine. I live in a warded neighborhood, actually. I can just Apparate right to my front gate.” A few years ago the Ministry had started finding pockets in residential areas of London that were entirely magical and warding them so that Muggles would avoid them. It was convenient, because it allowed witches and wizards to do magic outdoors, so long as they were within the wards, without violating the Statute of Secrecy. Vesper was lucky enough to live in such a neighborhood, though they were becoming more and more common.

“Lucky you,” said Declan. “How did you swing that?”

“My uncle, actually,” she said. “He bought me a house as a thank you gift when I finished my apprenticeship with him.”

“He bought you a _house_?”

“Yeah, it’s a little excessive, I know,” she said with a lopsided smile. “But he and I are really close and he doesn’t have any kids of his own, so he basically sees me as his daughter.”

“Still, it’s quite generous,” said Declan.

“Yeah, it is.” It had been a real surprise, too. She’d been saving up methodically and carefully during her time as Aurelian’s apprentice, hoping to have enough for a down payment on something small but livable. And then her uncle went and purchased her a beautiful three-bedroom home all for her (though Blaise had certainly spent a lot of time there, too, of course). She’d been so shocked when she saw it that she’d burst into tears, which hardly ever happened.

They arrived at the Apparition point, and Declan turned to her, giving her a soft smile. “I had fun tonight,” he said.

“Me too,” she replied, getting a definite “end-of-a-date” vibe from him suddenly, even though it had been a group outing. Was he going to try and kiss her?

“We should do it again sometime,” he said.

“Yeah, definitely.”

He leaned down, but only to give her a peck on the cheek. She couldn’t help but note the relief she felt at that, despite the fact that she knew she liked him. She just wasn’t ready for more, it seemed.

She took out her wand. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

“Bright and early,” he replied.

She turned on the spot, enduring that compressed, sucked-through-a-tube feeling for a moment before landing on familiar ground right at her front gate, just as she’d told Declan she would. She stuck her wand in her back pocket and opened the gate.

It wasn’t until she’d closed it behind her and turned that she realized she wasn’t alone. There was someone sitting on her front stoop, and her stomach lurched out of surprise. Then her heart rate spiked as she took in who it was.

Blaise sat there, looking at her. His elbows were resting on his knees, his hands clasped in front of him. The sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled up, revealing dark, wiry forearms that were flexing with tension. His whole body seemed to be radiating tension, in fact, which was not a usual attitude for him.

She stepped closer so she could make him out better in the dim light at her front door. All thoughts of Declan and her confused feelings for him were swept from her mind as she looked at her ex, wondering what he was doing there, waiting for him to speak.

“Hey,” she said finally, when it became obvious that he wasn’t going to talk first.

“Good evening.” He stared at her for a moment, his gaze unwavering. “You’re alone.”

She stared back, confused. “Yes…”

“I heard…” He cleared his throat. “I heard you were out with someone.”

 _Really?_ She crossed her arms over her chest. “From who?”

“Picard.”

She let out the smallest of scoffs. “Of course.” She shook her head. “What did he do? Send you a Patronus or something after he left the bar?”

“He floo called me when he got home.”

“Gotcha.” She stared down at her shoes.

“That angers you.”

“I don’t like feeling like I’m being spied on.”

“No one is spying on you.”

“Really? Because it sounds like that is exactly what Picard was doing.” This was escalating fast, adrenaline coursing through her, but this unexpected visit was unnerving, after an otherwise relaxed night.

“I didn’t _ask_ him to, if that’s what you’re implying. He simply… we do business together, and he saw you out with a man and thought I might be interested to know that.”

“Why? Why would he think you’d be interested?”

“Because I am.”

 _Dammit, Blaise._ This was, possibly, the most maddening thing about him. As long as he kept silent he was almost impossible to read, unless you knew him very well and were watching very closely. But when he opened his mouth he had a tendency to be starkly, heartbreakingly honest. It brought Vesper to her knees, sometimes. That used to be a good thing, but it wasn’t so much anymore.

_Why? Why are you interested?_

She almost asked it. The problem was, he might answer that one honestly too.

“Picard wasted a call,” she said instead. “It was nothing. Just drinks with a friend.”

“Who?”

Vesper rolled her eyes. “Declan Ross.”

He considered that a moment. “I don’t know who that is.”

“He was a Gryffindor a few years above you at Hogwarts. He’s in my training class.”

He blinked at her slowly, his usual impassive expression in place. “I see.”

“Yeah.”

“Picard thought you looked quite cozy.”

His voice was neutral, free of pain, so how was it that he could still make her feel guilty, just by looking at her like that?

“Well, Picard’s a shameless gossip,” she said, a little sharply. Blaise merely raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t even just me and Declan anyway. There were others from our class there too. I mean, it was originally just going to be us and the others tagged along… not that it matters.” She was babbling now, because she was uncomfortable, and he was still watching her with that blank stare she wished she could smack right off him. _Why does he make me feel like this?_ The whole situation pissed her off. “Not that it matters,” she repeated, more forcefully now, “because it’s none of your goddamn business who I’m out with. And it would be hypocritical for you to think it is, considering you literally just took Daphne Greengrass to the DTF gala on Saturday.”

He sighed. “She’s a friend, Vesper,” he said. “We’ve known each other since we were children. Her father mentioned to me offhand that she’d always wanted to go and since… since we’re not… since I didn’t have a date I asked her. It was just to be friendly.”

“Yeah, well, the _Daily Prophet_ is under the impression that you two are an item,” she said, before immediately biting her tongue. She had not meant to admit that she had been reading up on him. In fact, she hadn’t meant to even _look_ at the society pages at all, but she knew… she knew there would most likely be photos and…

What could she say? She was weak. She had looked.

And she knew how the pureblood world worked. She had lived in this country long enough to figure it out by now. If Daphne’s father had urged Blaise to take Daphne to the gala, it wasn’t out of some innocent desire for her to have frivolous fun. It was a calculated move to bring them closer together, in the hopes that something more would unfold between them. Daphne was an unmarried pureblood in her mid-twenties and Blaise a highly eligible prospect by any pureblood’s standards. It was just simple arithmetic, really.

“Yes, well, the _Daily Prophet’s_ always right, isn’t it?” Blaise said drily.

She stared at him. He wasn’t stupid; he must know that Mr. Greengrass had designs for him to end up with Daphne, and that such a scheme would most likely include the public’s awareness of a burgeoning courtship. The _Prophet’s_ coverage had been anticipated, encouraged, by the Greengrass patriarch, and Blaise _had_ to know that. He was never one to be so naïve as to believe otherwise. But, in this moment, he was treating Vesper like _she_ was, hoping she would simply take his word for it.

The problem was, part of her (all right, most of her, really) wanted to take him at his word, despite everything.

“Me believing what I read in the _Prophet_ is no worse than you believing Picard,” she said finally.

“So we’re both guilty of the same crime. We’re just one in the same, in the end, aren’t we?”

“Except that when you go out on a date, I don’t show up at your house in the middle of the night to make sure you haven’t taken them home with you.”

That brought him up short; she could tell by the subtle lurch of his shoulders. “No,” he said finally. “You don’t.” He almost sounded angry about it.

“You know why?”

His eyes narrowed. “Because it’s none of your goddamn business whom I go home with?” he ventured in a dry drawl.

“Precisely,” she said, giving him a brittle smile.

He absorbed that for a minute. “So it _was_ a date, then. You _are_ involved with that Gryffindor, after all.”

“No,” Vesper said in a tone of forced patience. “I already told you, he’s just a friend.”

“And I told you Daphne is just a friend.”

“Which is fine,” said Vesper. “But if she were more than a friend, that would be fine too, because we both have the right to see other people, like we _agreed_.”

He stared at her some more.

“Are you getting what I’m saying?”

His jaw clenched, just a little. “Yes.”

“So…” Vesper said, hoping he would take the hint.

“So.”

Vesper waited. “ _So_ …” she went on, frustrated. “What are you doing here, then?”

Of course, she already knew the answer. This was not the first time in the past four months that Blaise had shown up on her doorstep. Granted, it was the first time he had shown up this late at night, and the first time he had ever waited on her front stoop for her to come home. But still, they had been here before. She knew what came next.

“I’ve been… thinking about you.”

Vesper swallowed. “Is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

She closed her eyes. She had been trying _so hard_. She had been trying to let this be ok, to let it be clean, and simple, and _done_.

But he just kept coming back around, like she was a planet and he a satellite unable to break out of her orbit, try as he might. She didn’t ask this of him, of course. She didn’t do anything but just stand there. But even so he circled and circled, passing out of sight for a time and then coming back into view.

Did this make him happy or did it make him miserable? She had no idea. But she knew how she felt about it.

Confused. She was damn confused. _Declan doesn't make me confused like this_ , she couldn't help but think.

She took a few steps closer, hoping he would let her pass him and reach her front door. He stood, then, and her stomach dropped. “I’m really tired, Blaise,” she said. “I just want to go to bed.”

They were only inches from each other now, right in front of the stoop, and she found it hard to breathe.

_Then again, Declan doesn't make me feel this alive, either._

She felt it, that familiar humming energy, that gravitational pull. He did too, she knew, because a hand lifted, very slowly, and touched her, lightly, almost imperceptibly, on the sensitive skin of her inner forearm.

She closed her eyes again. This was his power. This was the thing that got her every time. There were countless things about him that made him wonderful, of course, but _this_ , this passion, this ardor, at once intense and yet restrained, as if containing it was the only thing keeping it from shattering the world, this was her downfall.

She could sense, in the light brush of his fingers, in the controlled rhythm of his breath, just how much he wanted her, and it made her feel torn open, like a wound. It made waves of heat waft over her neck and little lights dance in front of her eyes and, inexplicably, the Fugees’ version of “Killing Me Softly” play in her head.

Every damn time. Just from one touch.

How she had survived him up to this point, she had no idea.

“Blaise…” she began, her voice meek in her own ears.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he said again, soft and earnest. “I think about you all the time.”

It was impossible, futile, to explain to him that that was just the way it goes. That was what happened when you ended things after three years, three amazing years, with someone you loved. It was painful. It was _supposed_ to be painful. It was a process that would resolve itself over time. But it did require time.

Blaise didn’t really think like that. Somehow, in his mind, the fact that he continued to think about her after he had left her meant not simply that he _had_ loved her, but that he must _still_ love her. She didn’t know how to explain to him that it wasn’t necessarily the case.

And he wouldn’t have listened anyway, stubborn bastard that he was.

“Well,” she said, because she had to say something, or else she would simply close the tiny distance and kiss him. “Stop thinking.”

She stepped passed him, towards her front door, glad her key was right there in her pocket and she could unlock and open the door quickly. She spared him one more glance. “Go home.” She meant the words to sound firm, but they only came out resigned.

Once inside she took a deep breath, then set her keys in the little bowl on her foyer table where they belonged. She stood stark still, staring at them without really seeing them, and then started counting backwards in her head.

_10…_

She always started with 10. 10 seconds was just the right amount of time.

_9… 8…_

Too little time, and she wasn’t even really giving him the chance to walk away.

_7… 6…_

Too much, and she would almost guarantee that he would leave.

_5… 4…_

Still, she made the counts long, more than a second each, in actuality.

_3…_

A long count of 10. It gave him time to deliberate, to decide, to act.

Or not act.

_2…_

If he had already walked away by now, if she opened the door and he was already gone, then it was for the best, really.

_1…_

But if he was still there when she turned back, well… what could she say?

She was weak.

_0._

She turned, walked to the door with purpose, and opened it.

He stood there, one hand resting on the frame of the door, leaning into it like he had been waiting for her all along. Still, his expression was neither knowing nor smug. If it had been, she would have slammed the door in his face.

But, as it was, he just looked hungry. It made her blood sizzle.

So she stepped away, leaving the door open, and turned, making for the stairs.

He would come in, close and lock the door behind him, get the foyer lights with a wave of his wand, and follow her to her room. He didn’t need verbal instructions. He would just know.

Once she was in her bedroom she took her time undressing in solemn silence, not dissimilar to how she prepared herself before a duel. She unclasped her watch and set it on the dresser, removed her earrings one at a time, and took off the ring on her right hand. Then she pulled her shirt over her head, turning it right side out again and tossing it in her laundry basket.

He had arrived by now. She could hear the quiet shuffling of his feet on the carpet. But he was lingering just outside, hesitant, maybe, or something else. Maybe just watching.

So she reached down to the button of her jeans and popped it undone, then slid down the zipper of her fly deliberately, but not too quickly. She gripped the sides of the jeans and swayed her hips, shuffling herself out of their tight confines, bending to pull them down her legs, and stepping out of them one foot at a time.

Her bra would be next, but she paused. He was coming closer, she could sense it. He was maybe only a couple of feet away.

She turned and he was there, even closer than she realized, looking down at her with a softness that was liquefying and unnerving all at once. He had removed his shoes, she could see as she glanced down, and had even undone a couple of the buttons of his shirt. It left a beautiful triangular wedge of earth-dark skin exposed to the air, and she bent her head to place her lips on it.

He released a shaky breath, and it encouraged her to continue. She ran soft kisses along his chest, tasting him, while her fingers reached up and continued his previous work, exposing more and more of him with each undoing of a button until his shirt fell open completely.

His smell and taste was almost like earth too, she thought as her lips grazed his collarbone. Rich, warm, a little salty. And painfully familiar.

One of his hands came to rest on her waist as she tilted upwards, nuzzling into his neck, up under his jaw. The other had wound its way into her hair, pulling a little in a silent plea for more.

She reached his chin and paused there, waiting for him to come to her.

And come to her he did. It took only a second, and then his mouth was on hers, all his restraint gone. His grip tightened in her hair as their lips and tongues moved together ravenously, and she couldn’t help a small, breathy moan. Her hands were all over his torso, feeling that smooth skin, and it made his breath ragged in her mouth. He was already hard, she could freely feel as she pressed against him, and it made her lose all sense. She had forgotten, somehow, how easy it was for her to turn him on, just with her touch, that she had the same effect on him that he had on her. It was a heady, intoxicating thing to remember and it drowned out all of her doubts and insecurities in an instant.

Never breaking the kiss, she maneuvered them towards the bed, all the while pulling at his shirt to let it slide down his arms and onto the floor. He made for the clasp of her bra as she worked on his belt, and soon her bra was dispensed with altogether and his pants were on the floor. Vesper remained kneeling at his feet so she could get a good look at him once she’d freed him from the confines of his black boxer briefs.

She grabbed, pulled downwards, and found her mouth watering at the sight of him, his magnificent cock hailing proudly at her, begging to be taken. She leaned forward, her tongue coming out just a little to lick the tip, but a hand was suddenly in her hair, cupping the back of her head and pulling upwards gently.

She stood willingly. She had forgotten that he didn’t seem to want that anymore, not since their relationship had become little more than the occasional sexual encounter. Perhaps it was too intimate for him. Or he was worried he would come too soon, and he wanted to make it last, since he didn’t know when he would get it again. Vesper didn’t know the reason, and she wasn’t about to ask.

It used to be that they had sex all kinds of ways: playful morning romps after they’d just woken up, frenzied, half-clothed fucks in his office when he was supposed to be working, slow, languid explorations of each other’s bodies in the shroud of night that seemed to go on and on. They’d never had a routine before. They did it however they felt like in the moment.

But now it was always the same: tender, sensual, and a little desperate. And silent. They would barely speak at all, only cue each other with their bodies and their breath. Vesper didn’t know why this was. It just was.

He kissed her sweetly, like an apology, and began negotiating her onto the bed. She lay back and immediately arched up to help with the removal of her underwear as he made to slide it down her legs. Then his hands returned, trailing a finger up her left leg, lightly, teasingly, making her shudder.

He loomed over her, simply looking at her for a moment. His usual impassive mask was crumbling already, as it usually did by this point, revealing the truth that always lay hidden underneath: that he cared. He cared a hell of a lot. He was good at covering it up in most circumstances, but she had learned early on that there was something about physical intimacy that peeled that outer layer away, piece by piece.

He lowered himself onto her until they were pressed body to body, and without any cloth between them the feeling was incredible. She had missed this so much, this kind of closeness, and she let herself really savor it as she kissed him. His erection lingering at her entrance already had her arching against him with wanton need, and he responded by rubbing against her, stimulating them both as their moans intermingled in their mouths.

She broke the kiss. “The charm,” she reminded him softly. They had always relied on contraceptive charms to prevent pregnancy, since Vesper hated the way the potion made her feel and hadn’t been on it in years.

He nodded, peeling himself off her and finding the wand that was still in his pants pocket on the floor. When he’d waved it over her navel, muttering, and she felt the tingle inside her that indicated the charm had worked, she grabbed him, tossing him down so that she could straddle him. She actually heard him chuckle at that, low in his throat, and it made her smile, almost forgetting their situation, forgetting that he wasn’t really hers anymore. She was always one of the few people who could make him laugh. Each time was like a prize, hard-won, and all the sweeter for it.

Situated on top of him she started rubbing against him again, readying herself, coating him all over with the slickness of her arousal. Her hands were all over him too, running along his chest and stomach, tweaking his nipples, making the last vestiges of his mask fall away. He was staring at her now with so much hunger that it was almost predatory, but it didn’t scare her. It only spurred her on.

When she couldn’t take it anymore, when she couldn’t bear going another minute without him inside her, she lifted, positioning them both, and slowly impaled herself on him, savoring every inch.

Blaise let out a low groan as she engulfed him, his neck arching back, his hips rising to meet her. She began to move, slowly at first, steadying herself with the hands still on his chest, letting her internal muscles do most of the work. This was one of the advantages of being strong: the pleasure she could bring him, not to mention the pleasure she could bring herself as well. Each time she pulled him inside it hit at a sweet spot, a place where she was aching for him to be, and it built up her pleasure with every clench.

She let out a needy sigh as she began to move faster. It had been a while, a few weeks, in fact, and this alone was already spurring her on to orgasm faster than she ever would have thought. A small internal voice told her she should slow down, savor it, make it last, but she wasn’t sure her body was capable at the moment. Her Id was in control, and it wanted, _needed_ , satisfaction.

“Ves-Vesper,” Blaise called out in a desperate, choked voice. His hands were clenched tightly on her hips, helping set the pace. “I… oh… I….” he babbled incoherently.

A scorching heat rolled through her at the sight of him slowly coming undone beneath her. Yes, he had power, he had passion, that could turn her into a puddle at his feet. But she had _this._ She had power too, and he was in her sway, no part of him untouched.

She was close, she realized, but needed more, needed a new angle. So she sat back a little, then tugged at his arms to get him to sit up. It took him a moment to realize what she wanted, but when he did he complied immediately, and suddenly they were chest to chest, her small breasts pressing into him. She looked into his eyes, which were so dark it was impossible to tell how wide his pupils had blown. But the adoration glistening in them told her enough.

She kissed him, delving her tongue into his mouth as she began moving again, more a rolling motion, this time, as though rubbing herself on him like a cat. He held onto her as he returned the kiss with fervor, then broke away from her mouth to tilt towards a hardened nipple, sucking on it and flicking it with his tongue.

Vesper gave him a breathy moan of approval as the sensation went straight to her core. She was even closer now, reaching the peak, the point of no return, the place from which the only way to go was to fall. Blaise still had his mouth on her breasts and his hands were helping too, brushing over the hotspots on her back and ribs, playing lightly in the cleft of her ass, and stroking her perineum.

“Blaise,” she whispered. She had not intended to use his name. She tried not to, these days, if she could help it. But gods, he was driving her wild. She was going to come, and it was going to be amazing, because of him.

With a last desperate rolling of her hips and a well-timed pressing at her back entrance she was crying out, her orgasm overtaking her in a series of intense waves that seemed to go on and on. She knew she was clenching powerfully around Blaise’s cock, that he might come soon as well, and she also knew he was watching her explode, taking it all in. But she didn’t care much about that at the moment, as white spots flashed in front of her eyes and she rode it out, getting every last ounce of pleasure she could.

Finally her head collapsed onto his shoulder and she breathed heavily into his neck. His heart was pounding against hers, or, at least, that’s what it felt like. It could have been her heart alone, beating wildly; it was hard to tell.

Blaise gave her a moment to come down a little from her high, his hands running across her back in light strokes. But she could feel, now, that he was still hard inside her, and he would soon take his turn.

She lifted her head and placed her lips on his, the kiss sweeter and less desperate than before. But when he kissed her back it was filled with need, and she was hardly surprised when he rolled them over, his cock sinking deeper into her as he did so.

He lifted one of her thighs, adjusting his angle, and started moving, his thrusts going deeper and deeper, filling her. She arched, encouraging him, knowing he would like it, and he groaned.

He was kissing her at first, but as he started to move faster he couldn’t keep up with it. Soon his face was buried in her neck, his body shaking and frenzied, close to the brink.

“Vesper,” he said in her ear, his voice hoarse. “Vesper. I missed this so much. I missed _you_ so much.”

Her stomach clenched in bittersweet pleasure as he came, clutching her tightly. She kissed his neck and his collarbone as he ground into her, wringing out all the pleasure just as she had done. He had filled her with cum, quite a lot of it, she could feel as he pulled out. So, perhaps he wasn’t really sleeping with Daphne Greengrass after all. Maybe he wasn’t sleeping with anyone, except her. The thought made her both deeply gratified and strangely depressed. What were they doing here?

His wand was still nearby and he waved it over them, cleaning them up. Then he turned off the lamp on the bedside table and settled himself next to her, pulling her close so her cheek rested against his heart, which was still pounding away in his chest.

 _I missed you so much_. He hadn’t said anything like that before, not since the breakup anyway. What did it mean, if it meant anything at all? She could ask. She could press him on it. She could make him have a conversation about this, about what was happening, and what it meant.

But at the same time, she couldn’t. She just couldn’t.

So instead she closed her eyes, giving into the dark and everything that lived in it, and, eventually, drifted off.


	9. Little Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going to go ahead and own up to it right now. I will never get tired of writing Drarry & Teddy fluff. I just never will. You have been warned.

(Draco)

“Harry.”

Draco watched over the top of his newspaper as his boyfriend continued to stand at the kitchen window, giving no acknowledgment that he had heard Draco at all. Draco had been sitting at the table, trying to enjoy his breakfast. But Harry didn’t seem to be interested in eating, which was a distraction. He didn’t like it when Harry didn’t eat, because it usually meant something was bothering him.

“Harry,” he said again.

Harry started then, finally, before turning his head to look at Draco. “Sorry, what?”

“Come finish your breakfast.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not hungry, honestly.”

Draco sighed, returning his attention to the paper. Harry went back to staring out of the window.

Harry was nervous. They both were. In just a few short minutes, twenty, at the most, Andromeda and Teddy would be arriving. It was the day that Andromeda started her treatment at the hospital, which also made it the day that Teddy would move into Grimmauld permanently. Harry and Draco had both taken off work to be there and help him get settled in.

There was really no way to know how Teddy would handle the transition, and that had both men on edge. The boy had been quiet but receptive during their talk with him that Sunday, when they’d explained the situation to him, seeming to understand that his grandmother would not be able to take care of him for the foreseeable future, because she would be at the hospital a lot and very tired the rest of the time. He’d readily accepted the idea of living with Harry and Draco, much to their relief.

But knowing such a thing would someday come to pass was very different from the experience of that thing _actually happening_ , and Draco wasn’t sure Teddy was entirely emotionally prepared. In fact, he had rather wished that Teddy had been _more_ upset when he first heard the news. It would be a natural reaction, and would probably have tempered itself once Teddy had time to process everything. The fact that he had taken it so calmly had Draco convinced that there was another shoe that had yet to drop.

Teddy was a flexible child, in many respects, and was very used to being around other adults that weren’t his grandmother. He adapted to situations easily and made friends easily as well. But he was also sensitive. He picked up on others’ moods quite readily and had a tendency to become upset when other people were upset. Since this was an emotionally fraught situation, Draco figured it was only a matter of time before Teddy started to reflect some of that himself.

 _But we’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it,_ Draco thought. At least he and Harry were in it together. This would be a very hard thing to do alone.

_Now if only Harry would eat his breakfast._

Normally Draco would leave it alone, but his own nerves were getting the better of him, stretched thin as they were. He found himself opening his mouth, almost like a compulsion, to nag.

“You really should try to eat something, Harry.”

Harry sighed in response and didn’t look at him.

“If you don’t now, you’ll just be hungry later. And by then Teddy will be here and you’ll want to be focused on him and-“

Harry stomped over to the table, picked up a piece of bacon off his plate, and took a big, ferocious bite. “There, happy?” he asked as he chewed, almost growling. Draco watched calmly as Harry threw the rest of the bacon back onto his plate and turned away without waiting for a response.

Draco folded the newspaper and set it down next to his plate, then stood, his chair squeaking along the kitchen floor. Harry flinched at the sound. Draco came around the table and right up to Harry, though he was standing there stiffly, his body language hardly inviting. Even so, Draco put his arms around Harry’s waist and held him tight, resting his face against Harry’s shoulder. After a few seconds he felt Harry’s body soften into the embrace, and he smiled. This always worked when Harry was in a mood.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said quietly.

“I know,” Draco replied, kissing him behind his ear. “Me too.”

“I just… what if…” Harry’s grip tightened on Draco’s arms. “What if he hates it here?”

“He won’t. He never has before. He _likes_ coming here.”

“Yeah, sure, but that’s just for the occasional weekend. This is forever.” He turned to face Draco, giving Draco a glimpse of the unmistakable worry in his green eyes.

Draco pulled him closer, placing a light kiss on his soft lips. His hands drifted lower, inserting themselves into the back pockets of Harry’s jeans, and Harry’s arms went automatically around Draco’s waist in response.

“What if it’s just too different for him than what he’s used to? What if _we’re_ too different? I can’t be… I’m not Andromeda. I can’t do all the things she does. It’s like she always knows what he needs. I don’t know how…” He shook his head.

“Harry,” Draco said, catching Harry’s eyes, finally. “Your worry is natural. It makes sense. I’m afraid of the same things, but…” He sighed. “The truth is, things _will_ be different. We won’t parent exactly like Andromeda because we’re not her. It would be foolish to even try to be. I think we should just… you know, be ourselves, and see how it goes. And if there’s something that isn’t working, we’ll adjust. Teddy’s a good kid. He’ll help us. He’ll understand.”

Harry rested his head in the crook of Draco’s neck. “He shouldn’t have to. He should just get to be a kid. He shouldn’t have to deal with any of this stuff.”

“I know.” Harry had always been hypersensitive to anything that would make Teddy’s childhood less than wonderful. It made him both a generous, loving godfather and a bit of a pushover, at least at first. During Teddy’s toddler years, when he’d throw awful tantrums, though, Harry had learned to put his foot down. He figured out that discipline didn’t have to be mean or hurtful, it just meant not tolerating certain behavior. Draco was relieved by this, because he didn’t want to have the role of sole disciplinarian in their household any more than Harry did.

They remained entwined for a minute or two in silence, and Draco let his mind wander as he enjoyed the familiar feeling of Harry’s body pressed against his. The Gryffindor was still relatively slight, as he had been as a kid, but playing Quidditch at Hogwarts had filled him out just a little, keeping him lean but turning him toned and solid. Harry exercised plenty now, too, maintaining his surprising strength and exceptional stamina. Stamina that Draco put to the test quite frequently, in fact.

Realizing his thoughts had momentarily wandered into the realm of lecherous, he tried to rein them in, just as Harry was lifting his head again to look at him. Staring into those green eyes he couldn’t help but smile, and he leaned forward, placing his lips on Harry’s.

Harry hummed and Draco deepened the kiss, flitting his tongue out just as his hands, still in Harry’s back pockets, squeeze that taut arse firmly. Harry chuckled, pulling away an inch or two.

“That’s your solution, then?” he asked, his breath ghosting across Draco’s lips. “Snog all our troubles away?”

Draco chuckled too, then kissed him again. “I’d say we should shag our troubles away instead, but we don’t have the time.”

“Mmm,” Harry replied, running his lips along Draco’s jaw and nibbling at his earlobe gently. “Don’t tempt me.”

Draco could feel himself starting to harden in his trousers, and he knew he should put a stop to this before either of them got too worked up. But Harry was rubbing against him in a very tantalizing way, and he couldn’t help a small groan, which had Harry chuckling.

“Damn you, Potter,” Draco said, as Harry nipped at his neck.

“Uh-oh,” Harry said, and Draco could hear the grin in his voice. “Out comes the surname. I guess I must really have you worked up then.”

“And your timing couldn’t be worse.”

Harry pulled back, giving him a smug look with the raise of an eyebrow. “You were the one who mentioned shagging.”

Draco just stared at him hungrily, not having a good answer for that.

Harry smiled and kissed Draco soundly, only to pull away again far too soon. “I suppose I should finish my breakfast, yeah, before they arrive?” He pulled out of Draco’s embrace entirely, leaving him feeling annoyingly bereft. But, then again, Harry was going to eat, and he supposed, under the circumstances, that it was a fair trade.

Harry was just finishing the last of bacon when the doorbell rang, and both men sprang up from their seats to answer it. They exchanged a knowing look, acknowledging their mutual nerves for a moment, before Harry started towards the foyer, Draco not far behind.

When they opened the front door they found Andromeda looking haggard but genuinely happy to see them and Teddy looking stoic but not necessarily ill-tempered. They welcomed them inside, exchanged kisses with Andromeda, and greeted Teddy warmly.

A soft “Hey” was all they received in return, and they looked at Andromeda automatically.

“He didn’t sleep all that well last night,” she informed them. “But he was ready to go this morning without much fuss, so…” She took a deep breath.

“It’s an adjustment,” Draco said. “For all of us.”

Harry crouched down to eye level with Teddy. “Is that right, little man?” he asked the boy, brushing the mousy brown hair off his forehead. “Are you a bit tired?”

Teddy shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“All right, well…” Harry glanced up at Draco. “I suppose we’ll take you upstairs, then.” He returned his attention to his godson. “I’m sure you want to set up your room just how you like it. There’s lots of space for all of your books and toys.”

Teddy already had a designated bedroom at Grimmauld, of course, for when he had stayed with Harry and Draco in the past. It was stocked with a few toys and games (although usually Teddy brought what he wanted from home), but hardly had any personal touches that really made it Teddy’s own. They intended to change that, telling Teddy that he could decorate and arrange the room however he wanted. That had been Harry’s idea, and Draco thought it was an excellent one.

“Sounds lovely,” Andromeda said with a brave smile. “I’ve already got all of Teddy’s things right here.” She patted her jacket pockets, where there were undoubtedly some shrunken bags and maybe a trunk or two containing Teddy’s belongings.

“It must have been a real chore packing everything,” Harry said to Andromeda as they climbed the stairs. “We would have been happy to come over and help.”

“Oh, it was nothing, Harry. I did it all by magic. Didn’t take long at all.”

“Right,” said Harry, and Draco found himself smiling. There were some things for which Harry always seemed to forget that magic could be used, left over, Draco had no doubt, from his Muggle upbringing. Still it popped up at amusing moments.

“Here you are, Teddy,” Harry said as they entered the bedroom, which was right down the hall from Harry and Draco’s master suite. “Now, I know you’ve slept here loads of times before, but if there’s anything you want to change, just say the word, and we’ll transfigure it for you, all right? We can even change the color of the walls, if you want.”

“No thanks,” said Teddy, looking around at the indigo walls. “Blue is my favorite color.”

“Perfect, then,” said Harry. He looked at the adults. “What shall we do first?”

Andromeda began taking things out of her pockets. “Well, we’ve got clothes, books, toys, photographs…”

“I’ll do clothes,” Draco said immediately, accepting one of the shrunk trunks from Andromeda and taking out his wand to unshrink it. “I know the best techniques for folding magically without wrinkling them. Harry’s never gotten the hang of it.” He grinned at his boyfriend.

Harry scoffed. “I fold them just fine myself. I don’t know what you’re complaining about.”

“I’m complaining about wrinkles, of course. I swear, some days you pull a shirt out of the dresser and put it on and it looks like you just slept in it. If you’d just let me-”

“Oh, give it a rest. You’re exaggerating. I was perfectly capable of dressing myself before you came along.”

“That depends on your definition of ‘dressing yourself,’ I would think.”

Harry rolled his eyes and Teddy giggled. He liked hearing Harry and Draco rib each other, though Draco didn’t know what it was that the boy found so funny about it. Still, he threw his cousin a surreptitious wink over Harry’s shoulder and got a big smile in response.

And just like that, the mood in the room lightened considerably. Draco went through Teddy’s clothes, organizing them by category, magically folding what belonged in the little dresser and hanging up the tyke-sized trousers in the closet. All the while he listened as Harry helped Teddy decide where to place his toy chest, which books to put within easy reach on the shelf, and which to place higher up.

“We’ll get you a stepstool, you know, Teddy,” said Harry. “That way you can get to whatever you want. You just have to be careful with it, all right?”

Andromeda had set to decorating, finding places for the photographs to sit and for Teddy’s artwork to hang on the walls. Occasionally she would ask for input from her grandson, who was surprisingly and amusingly opinionated about where his art should hang, particularly a very large drawing he’d done of a “dragon” (which was, in fact, quite abstract, but pleasing to the eye nonetheless, Draco thought) which he insisted go directly above the headboard of his small bed.

Teddy loved dragons. Even though he knew his birth father had been a werewolf and he had Griffin, the stuffed lion he’d had since infancy that he slept with every night, fire-breathing lizards had been Teddy’s favorite animal since Draco could remember. He also remembered how excited Teddy had been the day he learned that Draco’s name meant “dragon” as well. He had set about learning the word for dragon in a multitude of languages and naming his various dragon toys thusly.

Now finished with the clothes, Draco joined Harry and Teddy, who were talking about the color of the bookshelf.

“Blue,” Teddy was saying.

“Are you sure, Teddy?” Harry asked. “Blue is a good color, but it’s nice to have some variety sometimes. You don’t want _too_ much of the same thing. What about white, or green?”

Draco grinned, entertained listening to his partner discussing interior décor with a five-year-old.

Teddy shook his head. “I don’t like those.”

“You don’t like the color green?” Harry asked skeptically.

Teddy heaved a dramatic sigh. “Shelves aren’t supposed to be _green_ ,” he said, as if this was obvious.

Draco quickly turned his laugh into a cough and saw that Harry was suppressing a smile.

“Well, is there something you like besides blue?”

Teddy thought. “Orange!”

Harry sighed, his eyes catching Draco’s for a moment. Then he waved his wand, and the bookshelf turned ochre, clashing a bit with the walls, though not unbearably so.

"No, not _brown_ ," said Teddy. "Orange!" He demonstrated by turning his own hair the color he was thinking of, making him look like a neon version of a Weasley child.

Harry waved his wand again, and the shelves brightened into vibrant tangerine. “It’s a little glaring on the eyes, don’t you think?” he asked hopefully. Draco had to agree. It was giving him a bit of a headache but just looking at them.

Teddy simply stared at it as though it didn’t bother him at all.

Draco had a sudden idea. “What about this, Ted?” He waved his wand as Harry had done, and the shelves turned white. Then, before Teddy could protest, he waved it again and suddenly little painted dragons appeared, dotting all the surfaces of the shelves in different poses: some crouched, some stretching their necks, some breathing fire.

Teddy stared in awe. “That’s amazing,” he said.

Draco smiled, warmth flooding through him, as Harry caught his eyes again. “You’re a genius, you are,” he said. “Isn’t that right, Ted?” he asked, scooping up the boy and giving him a tickle. Teddy giggled. “Isn’t Draco a genius?”

“Yes,” said Teddy with a smile.

“Those are perfect, Draco,” Andromeda chimed in. “The perfect addition.” She looked down at Teddy. “What do you think, little one? Is your room finished? Is there anything else to do?”

Teddy extricated himself from Harry’s lap and stood, looking around with a discerning expression. He glanced at his chest of toys next to his bookshelf, his collection of books, his drawings on the walls, and the various photographs featuring him with Andromeda, Harry and Draco, the Weasleys, and even Tonks and Remus, when he was first born. His eyes landed on the dresser where most of his clothes now resided. He pointed to it.

“Can you do it again to the dresser, Draco?” he asked.

“The dragons?” Draco asked. Teddy nodded. “Sure, but we could also do something different, if you want. What about hippogriffs?”

Teddy considered that, then nodded enthusiastically. “And centaurs!” he cried. “And unicorns!”

Chuckling at Teddy’s enthusiasm, Draco cast a series of spells, transforming the dresser into a depiction of a whole magical menagerie while Teddy clapped his hands in delight.

Now the room was finished, and Teddy climbed up onto his bed and took Griffin in his arms, holding him close. “Now what do we do?” he asked.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave soon,” Andromeda said.

“Already?” Teddy asked, clutching Griffin tighter.

“Yes, my love,” she said, coming to sit next to him on the bed. “I don’t want to be late for my appointment. And your Aunt Cissy is going to be waiting for me at the hospital.” Aunt Cissy was what Teddy called Narcissa, since she was, in actuality, his great aunt. Teddy had an aversion to calling adults Aunt and Uncle if they weren’t actually his aunt or uncle, so he had taken to simply calling Harry, Draco, Hermione, Ron, and the rest by their first names. He liked to be precise. He did call Draco “Cousin Draco” sometimes, but that was rare.

Teddy sighed but didn’t say anything. Andromeda turned to Harry and Draco.

“Would it be all right if Teddy and I had a few minutes alone?” she asked them.

“Of course,” they both answered, nearly in unison, scrambling to stand.

“Take all the time you need,” Draco added, glancing between them. “We’ll be right downstairs if you need us.”

Andromeda gave them both a grateful smile as they left the room. As they descended the stairs, Draco felt Harry take his hand and give it a squeeze. Whether he was giving comfort or seeking it, Draco didn’t know. Perhaps a bit of both. He squeezed back.

“He likes the room, I think,” Harry said quietly.

“Yes, I daresay he does,” Draco replied with a soft smile.

Once they were at the bottom of the stairs, Harry glanced back up the way they had come. “What do you think she’s saying to him?”

“I’m sure she’s just telling him how much she loves him, reassuring him everything will be all right, that sort of thing.”

“But everything isn’t going to be all right,” said Harry. “Andromeda can’t be cured.”

Draco sighed. “No, not with current treatment options. But Teddy doesn’t need to know that, not yet. He’s too young. The important thing right now is that he feels safe and loved.”

Harry nodded, but his expression was oddly blank. And that’s when Draco realized that Harry might not fully understand what Draco was talking about. He might get it intellectually, he might get it enough to do the same for Teddy, but he didn’t _know_ it, from his own experience. He didn’t know what it was like to be small and scared and suddenly wrapped in the warmth of an adult who loved you, who wanted to protect you, who made you feel secure. Harry understood the small and scared part all too well, but not the rest. Never the rest.

Draco felt a surge of anger towards Harry’s aunt and uncle, miserable excuses for human beings that they were, followed by a pang of sadness for the little boy that Harry had been. The image of Harry, young and scrawny, with broken glasses, stuck in his cupboard all alone, still haunted Draco sometimes. It made him feel guilty for not realizing sooner, for not being kinder to Harry during their youth.

“Draco? What is it?”

Draco shook himself, meeting his boyfriend’s eyes, which were watching him curiously. “Nothing,” he said. Harry hated anything that resembled pity. He thought the realities of his past made him seem weak. Draco didn’t know how to convince him that it was just the opposite. “Just thinking about Teddy.” He gave Harry a peck on the lips. “What do you say we get ahead on preparing lunch? Teddy might get hungry in a bit.”

“Sure,” said Harry, the curious expression lingering for a moment longer.

Draco gave him another kiss and made for the kitchen.

They decided to make Teddy’s favorite: chicken nuggets. Harry had picked up some boxes at a Muggle grocery store in preparation. Draco preheated the oven and set about arranging the little frozen pieces on a baking sheet while Harry set some left over chicken stew to heat on the range for him and Draco.

“I was thinking I’d make a fruit salad as a side,” Harry told Draco, once the nuggets were in the oven. “Give me a hand?”

They worked mostly in silence, peeling oranges, coring apples, slicing grapes (this sort of “cooking” was the kind that Draco could actually handle, as he had extensive experience preparing potion ingredients), and only a few minutes later they heard footsteps in the hallway and both looked up to see Andromeda enter the kitchen.

Harry immediately put down the knife he was using and approached her, and Draco followed suit.

“Teddy still upstairs?” Harry asked.

Andromeda nodded. “He’s just coloring. It relaxes him, you know. I told him you’d come and get him in a few minutes.”

“How is he?” Draco asked.

“He’s a little sad, I think, but he seems to have accepted things. I told him that he would need to be patient but that he would see me again, and to be extra good for both of you.”

“Thanks for that,” said Harry with a smile. “Not that he’s not usually good anyway.”

“You’re certainly right about that,” Andromeda agreed. “But do watch for if he’s getting over-stimulated. It makes him crabby and quick to tears. He’s a child who needs his down time.”

Harry and Draco both nodded.

“And I do let him watch telly on occasion, but not every day. It’s better to encourage him to read, or use his imagination. He’s very good at that.”

“We know, Aunt, don’t worry,” said Draco.

“And not too many sweets,” she said. “Normally I only let him have some on weekends and special occasions, like the holidays.”

Harry and Draco both chuckled.

“All right, all right, I know,” Andromeda said with a sheepish smile. “You know all of this already.”

“It’s fine, ‘Dromeda,” Harry reassured her. “We’ll do all the things you suggested. And if you think of anything else, just send us an owl.”

Her smile turned grateful, if not a bit teary. “There’s one more thing,” she said, pulling something out of her pocket. She unshrunk it with a wave of her wand, and Draco could see that it was a photo album. “I started a bit of a scrapbook for him not long after the end of the war,” she explained. “It’s mostly photographs, but it’s other things too: little drawings he or his friends did, ticket stubs from when we went to the zoo together, things like that.” She handed the book to Harry. “I’d appreciate if you’d continue it, take photographs of him regularly, save little keepsakes and things to put in there…” She took a shaky breath. “Maybe it’s a lot to ask, but…”

“No,” Harry said quickly, opening the book and turning the pages. “I think it’s a great idea.”

“This way he’ll have something to look back on when he’s older, in case he doesn’t remember… you know… some things.”

Draco watched Harry as he flipped through the book, looking at the photographs, running his fingers over the little pieces of artwork. “You know, ‘Dromeda,” he said, “maybe you should keep this for now. We’ll take pictures and save things for you and you and Teddy can add them to the scrapbook together, whenever he comes for a visit. I bet Teddy would like that.”

Andromeda looked at him, her eyes glistening. She understood, of course, what he was really offering, which was the chance to have photos and memories of Teddy at her fingertips as she underwent treatment. Draco wasn’t about to say it aloud, but he knew that she would need it right now, without her actual grandson near her all the time.

“That’s… a rather nice idea,” she managed, after a minute.

Draco glanced at Harry to find him staring at him, warmth in his eyes. “I think it’s perfect,” Harry added, handing Andromeda back the scrapbook. “We’ll tell Teddy to keep an eye out for things he wants to put in there. I bet he’ll have a lot of fun coming up with things.”

“I’m sure he will,” Andromeda agreed. She sighed heavily and wiped her eyes. “All right, I do really have to go now. I’m sure Narcissa has already beaten me there. You know she’s always early.”

Tight hugs and whispered words of gratitude were exchanged at the door as Harry and Draco bid Andromeda goodbye. When she was gone, Harry turned to Draco.

“Would you like to go fetch Teddy while I finish up lunch?”

“Sure,” Draco said. He leaned in and kissed Harry soundly. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” replied Harry, looking both pleased and confused.

“Just thought I’d remind you.”

Harry smiled and kissed him in return. “I never forget, as you well know.”

Draco found Teddy just as Andromeda had described, sitting on the floor with a coloring book in front of him, using his special crayons and talking quietly to himself. Draco watched him for a moment, then knocked lightly on the open door to get Teddy’s attention. Teddy looked up at Draco, his expression a little glum.

“How about some lunch, little man? We made chicken nuggets.”

Teddy immediately brightened at that and jumped up, taking Draco’s hand. Draco chuckled as he was led down the hall to the stairs.

“Someone’s hungry,” he joked, and Teddy giggled.

Harry and Draco teamed up to keep Teddy occupied, so his thoughts weren’t lingering on Andromeda all day. During lunch they asked him all about school: his teachers, his friends, his favorite activities, and afterward they went to the park, where Teddy climbed on the jungle gym, swung on the swings, and made friends with a little Muggle boy who was there with his mum. Draco was nervous at first that Teddy would accidentally show off some of his Metamorphmagus abilities to his new friend, but luckily Teddy had good control over his powers by that point and understood that he had to keep them in check when he was with non-magic people. Still, both he and Harry kept a close eye on the boys as they played together, since Teddy’s control wasn’t perfect and his hair did have a tendency to turn unnatural colors to match his mood when he was particularly upset.

Luckily the afternoon passed without incident, and Teddy was well worn out by the time they returned to Grimmauld, ready for his “quiet time.” He didn’t really take naps anymore, but he did enjoy time in his room to himself after school every day, Andromeda had informed them. Usually he drew, read (or, at least, looked at the pictures in his books, since he was only just starting to learn the basics of reading), played with his toys, or just lay in his bed, thinking about things. It was perfect, because while Teddy took his quiet time it gave Draco a chance to catch up on some reading he had to do. There was a new issue of _Healer’s Weekly_ that he had yet to peruse, and he always tried to stay on top of that sort of thing. Harry had some letters to send, he said, so they all went their separate ways for a couple of hours, Teddy to his room and Draco and Harry to their respective studies. Draco found it quite relaxing after a busy and emotionally charged day.

Teddy found Draco in his study at half past five. Draco looked up and smiled at the little person lingering in the doorway, holding a big puzzle box in his arms.

“Hey, Teddy. What do you have there?”

“A puzzle,” replied the boy.

Draco smiled. “I can see that. Did you bring it because you want me to help you with it?”

“Harry’s started cooking dinner,” the boy informed him. “And he said that he didn’t need any help and that I should find you and that you would do the puzzle with me.”

Draco chuckled. “He did, did he? Well all right then. Meet me in the sitting room. Do you remember where that is?”

“Of course,” said Teddy.

The puzzle, it turned out, was a map of Europe, with each country being a different piece. Draco would have been surprised that Teddy found it interesting, except that the pieces spoke to you when you touched them, giving you a greeting in the native language of each country. Teddy didn’t really understand how to put the puzzle together and needed a lot of help from Draco with where all the countries belonged, but he already had all the greetings memorized.

“Hola! Bienvenidos a España!” He repeated, as he placed the Spain piece next to Portugal, as Draco had indicated. He then picked up Germany. “Hallo, willlkommen in Deutschland!”

“That’s pretty impressive, Teddy,” Draco told him, though he didn’t know why he was surprised. Teddy’s first favorite thing in the world was magical creatures, but foreign languages were a close second.

Harry soon informed them that dinner was ready, and they sat down together for a meal of spaghetti with sausage and fresh vegetables. Not the most elaborate of fare, but Draco knew this was mainly for Teddy’s benefit, since a five-year-old’s palate was a simple one. Draco could readily guess that there wouldn’t be much more of thyme-glazed chicken and pork chops with cherry sauce in his immediate future. Of course, he’d had Harry as a personal chef for the past four years, so he was a bit spoiled.

After dinner the three of them took a few more minutes for Teddy to finish his puzzle, then Draco was charged with giving Teddy his bath while Harry cleaned up from dinner. Then it was bedtime for Teddy, who seemed a bit reluctant except for the prospect of getting to read a story. Unsurprisingly, he chose one of his very favorites, _Shu Fang the Gentle Dragon_ , about a Chinese Fireball who just wants everyone to get along.

 _He is such a Hufflepuff_ , Draco thought ruefully as he read aloud, Teddy hanging on his every word. In truth, though, he didn’t really mind. Teddy was smart, with a good heart and a kind nature, and how could he really ask for more?

Harry joined them just as the story was wrapping up, and they both gave Teddy goodnight kisses and tucked him in. By the time they made their way downstairs and into the lounge for some time to themselves, they were practically collapsing onto the sofa.

“Well, that went well, I thought, overall,” said Harry, sighing as he relaxed his neck against the back of the sofa.

“Surprisingly well,” Draco agreed. “Though entertaining a child who’s as laid back as Teddy still requires a lot of energy, for some reason.”

“I know. Thank Merlin he’s not one of those hyperactive-type kids, eh? Can you imagine?”

“I don’t think we’d survive the next six years. We’d have to ship him off to Hogwarts early.”

Harry chuckled, closing his eyes. The two sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the reprieve.

“Do you want me to rub your feet?” Harry offered.

“Hmm, tempting. But then I’d have to move, and I’m not sure I’m up for it at the moment.”

Harry chuckled again. “Lazy bastard, won’t even exert a bit of energy to get pampered by his boyfriend.”

Draco grinned. “Ironic, that.”

After a few minutes, though, Draco decided that a foot rub _did_ sound quite nice, and well worth shifting his position for, and he and Harry settled in, watching a bit of telly with the volume low and chatting softly. Draco soaked it all in, appreciating that even though many things were going to change with Teddy now permanently living in their home, they would always have this.

“Is it wrong that I’m happy?” Harry asked him after a while.

Draco turned his head to see that Harry had a rather guilty look on his face. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Harry sighed. “I mean, I’m glad that Teddy is here. I’m glad that we’re going to raise him. But it’s at Andromeda’s expense. Obviously I’m upset that she’s sick, but I’m also… happy. And I feel like that’s wrong.”

Draco considered that. “You think it would be better if you were unhappy that Teddy was here, if you were sitting here resenting him, wishing you didn’t have to take care of him?”

“Well, no, but…”

“I’m happy too,” Draco confessed. “Not about Andromeda, but about the fact that we’re together and we have this wonderful little boy in our lives and that we’ve taken this next big step. I wish it didn’t have to happen this way, but better for us to feel ready and happy about it then simply sad or angry, don’t you think?”

Harry thought that over. “I suppose,” he said.

“It’s no use feeling guilty over something you can’t and wouldn’t change.”

Harry snorted. “A truly Slytherin thing to say.”

Draco shrugged. “Slytherins are pragmatic, and that has its upsides in a lot of cases. You should try it sometime.”

“Hmm, maybe, but I think for now I’ll just stick to doing a Slytherin, rather than being one.”

Draco laughed. “Cheeky prat,” he said.

“Yeah, but you love me.”

“That I do,” said Draco, watching Harry’s face in the soft glow of the television. _For_ _always._


	10. I Don't Want to Want You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another one down! Thanks, as always, to those who have been commenting!
> 
> We're back to Vesper, which means we're going to get a little more insight into the Aurors and how they solve cases. I debated back and forth with myself for a while about whether or not the Auror stuff would be interesting for readers, or if it's just me. Feedback on that is welcome, as it could have a bearing on how I approach future chapters!
> 
> There's still lots of interpersonal stuff too, of course! A bit with Blaise, plus we get to see how Harry and Teddy are doing. Hope you enjoy! <3

(Vesper)

_I really should get up_.

She’d been thinking it to herself for the past half hour, but she couldn’t bring herself to move. She knew she had work soon, that it was an important day, with a classroom portion that was actually going to be _practical_ , Ron had promised. She was, in actuality, pretty excited at the prospect.

Plus she needed a few extra minutes, on top of her usual routine, because she wasn’t even in her own bed. She needed to get up, go home, grab her trainee uniform, and scarf down some breakfast. She _had_ to.

But there were fingers brushing over her skin: agile, deft, familiar, and the bed was warm, and soft, and smelled like home.

Smelled like Blaise.

It had been an interesting, if not confusing, couple of weeks. After that night, when she’d slept with Blaise immediately following the drinks with Declan, something had shifted. It was something neither of them had outright acknowledged or bothered to name, but it was undeniable.

Before, they’d only had the occasional tryst in moments of desperation, and Blaise had always come to her and had always snuck out before the morning. Vesper read that message loud and clear: this was sex and nothing more. This was two people who simply craved connection and were taking it where they were most comfortable getting it. This did not mean anything about the rekindling of their relationship.

But after that night, when he’d told her that he missed her, things didn’t unfold as usual. Blaise didn’t sneak out at four in the morning when he thought Vesper was still asleep. They had woken up together, much to her surprise, and she’d had to kick him out in order to get to work on time. And then, only a few days later, he had returned, and not on any pretense, either. He hadn’t shown up because she’d just been on a date or there was something he “had to ask her.” He’d just shown up, and, to her own amazement, Vesper had simply let him in.

She didn’t know what had changed. She didn’t know what it meant. She just knew it was an easy routine to fall into. Every few days he’d come to her house, usually in the late evening, after she’d returned from work and had already made and eaten dinner. They’d talk, fall into bed, have incredible sex, and then, surprisingly, talk some more. Not about their relationship or their feelings about one another, never that. But other things: work, their friends, politics, gossip. It was easy, and safe, and comforting, and she took solace in knowing he was there, with her, simply because he wanted to be.

And then, last night, she’d done something she never thought she’d do. She came to him.

She didn’t mean to. But it had been a long day. Dempsey was being a real dick as usual, and she hadn’t done great on her most recent quiz. She just wanted a place to go, somewhere she didn’t have to think, somewhere she could be free, and Blaise’s was the most natural choice.

_What the hell is happening here?_

“I really should get up,” she said aloud, her voice coming out soft and sleepy.

Blaise hummed but otherwise didn’t respond, his fingers still lightly playing across her abdomen.

“No, really,” she said, opening her eyes and turning to glance at the clock on the far wall. “I have to be at work in an hour.”

Still, though, she didn’t move. She only lay there, blinking slowly, trying not to think about the fact that the movements of Blaise’s fingers were turning her on, slowly but surely.

“Can I ask you something?” Blaise’s voice was as soft as his touch.

Vesper opened her eyes again, turning to look at him. He was lying propped up on one elbow, watching her calmly.

“Sure. What is it?”

“Why did you leave dueling to become an Auror?”

Vesper tensed automatically at the question, but then tried to moderate her reaction. The answer was complicated, more complicated than Blaise could understand, at this point, but she did her best.

“I just needed a new challenge, I suppose.”

“Mmm,” Blaise said, thinking that over. “Being one of the best duelists in the world wasn’t satisfying for you anymore?”

Vesper fought a smile. “Something like that. Plus, you know… I want to – to do something _good_ , to make a mark on the world.”

Blaise absorbed that silently.

“Just about everyone I know is out there doing something good,” Vesper went on. “Harry’s uniting Britain’s youth, Draco and Hannah are healing people, Hermione’s fighting for the rights of the disenfranchised, Ron’s keeping the wizarding world safe, Neville is teaching the next generation… Shall I go on?”

Blaise gave her a small, wry smile. “No, you’ve made your point.”

“So… I guess I just realized I should be doing my part. And dueling wasn’t really helping anyone but myself.”

Blaise was quiet, and Vesper resisted the urge to ask him what he was thinking. Instead she closed her eyes, working on summoning the wherewithal to get herself out of bed.

“You were a role model,” he said suddenly. “For young women. You were modeling strength, hard work, perseverance. And bravery.”

She stared at him. Was that how he saw it? Really?

“Maybe,” she said. “But I could do that even more as an Auror.”

“Yes, but…”

She raised her eyebrows. “But…?” she asked, her voice taking on an edge.

“It’s dangerous,” he said.

She stared at him some more. “So?”

“So… that isn’t a concern for you?”

She narrowed her eyes. She didn’t like where this was going, not at all. “There’s a reason we get trained the way we do. There are measures and protocols in place that help keep us safe. The Auror Corps knows what it’s doing. And it’s a lot of office work, actually. A lot more than you’d expect.”

“That may be true,” Blaise said mildly. “But even so, Ron Weasley still nearly had his arm blown off, and he’s supposed to be one of the best they have.”

“Well, yeah, things happen. Risk is part of the job.”

“So why would you do it?”

“Because I would be risking my life to help people.”

He simply looked at her, and Vesper felt a surge of irritation. No, more than irritation. It was outright anger.

“You don’t think I can handle it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Blaise said in that obnoxiously calm voice of his. “But I would be lying if I said I approved.”

_Approved???_

And, just like that, Vesper was wide awake and ready to go. She tossed the covers aside and scrambled out of the bed, unconcerned that she was stark naked. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

Blaise seemed to finally realize that he had said exactly the wrong thing. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said as Vesper searched the floor for her underwear. She found it, thankfully, along with the t-shirt she had worn the night before. She hurried to put it on. “But I am concerned. It was all just so sudden.”

“It’s not your job to be concerned,” Vesper said stubbornly, pulling the t-shirt on over her head. “You’re not my boyfriend. You have no say in this at all.”

His jaw clenched. “No,” he said. “But I am your friend.”

“Oh, you are, are you?” She was searching for her jeans now, refusing to look at him.

“Yes. And friends share their concerns with each other.”

“You have nothing to be concerned about. I needed a career change. End of story.”

“I don’t think that’s true. I think there’s more to it than that.”

“Well, there isn’t,” she said, aware that the defensiveness in her voice belied everything she said. “You can sit here and think about it all you want, but it won’t do you any good, and it won’t change my mind.”

He watched her silently as she fastened her jeans and threw her hair into a ponytail with help from the Muggle hair tie she had been wearing on her wrist.

“It wasn’t my intention to make you angry,” he said finally, when it was clear she was about to go.

“It never is,” she countered. “But you do it anyway. I never let you be high-handed when we were together. I don’t know why you’d think I’d start now.”

He sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Truly, I am.”

She felt herself deflate a little. “Thank you,” she said.

“I just want you to… to be safe.”

“I’m very safe,” she said. “I’m one of the best duelists in the world. I’m even better than Ron Weasley. And I’ll do everything in my power to keep my limbs intact, I promise.”

He looked for a moment like he wanted to argue, but then thought better of it. “Very well,” he said.

“I really do have to go,” she said.

“I know. But are you… can I…” He licked his lips. “Can I see you tonight?”

 _In way too deep_ , said a voice in her head.

“No, sorry. I’m having dinner at Harry’s tonight,” she replied, not meeting his eyes. She was glad, at least, that she didn’t have to lie.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, Draco’s on shift until tomorrow and it’s nice for Harry to have company now and then, since it’s just him and Teddy a lot of the time, you know.” She wasn’t sure why she felt a need to explain this, but then again, Blaise often brought that feeling out in her.

“Of course,” he said. “I hope you enjoy yourself.”

“I’m sure I will.” Merlin, why did she feel so guilty? She hated this. This was all just… not good. “You’re going to Hermione’s party tomorrow, right?”

“Naturally,” he replied.

“So I’ll see you there.”

“Yes, you will.”

“Ok, well…” What did she do? Did she kiss him goodbye? Or would that send the wrong message? Yes, it probably would. “See you then. Bye. Have a good day at work.”

“You too,” he said softly as she turned, making for the door. “Goodbye, Vesper.”

***

She arrived at the Ministry with only a few minutes to spare, her heart hammering. She hated being rushed, and she hated being late. She used to be up by 5 or 5:30 every morning, so she’d always have time for her full morning routine. Being with Blaise had taught her to enjoy the occasional “lie-in,” as the Brits called it. She wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.

When she arrived at the classroom she saw that Ron was already there, not a good sign, but at least he hadn’t started the lesson yet. She snuck in quietly, happy to find a desk next to Declan free.

“Cutting it close, aren’t you?” Declan murmured to her.

“It’s been an interesting morning,” she said.

Declan raised his eyebrows in curiosity but didn’t get the chance to ask, as Ron called for everyone’s attention and the chatter quieted down.

“Good morning, everyone.” Ron looked around the room, waiting for everyone to get settled in their seats. “It’s been a full week and I’ve thrown a lot of information at you regarding interviewing techniques and taking witness statements. You all have done well, but it’s time to take it to the next level and talk about one of the most important tools that we Aurors have at our disposal: pensieve memories. As you know from reading your handbooks it is standard protocol now to request pensieve memories from all witnesses after we interview them. Can anyone tell me why we do this? Why are pensieve memories so much more valuable than witness statements?”

A number of trainees raised their hands, including Declan and Vesper.

“Abernathy,” Ron called.

“Pensieve memories are more detailed and accurate than memories recalled verbally,” Abernathy said.

“Yes, that’s correct. And why is that?”

Abernathy frowned, seeming stumped. Ron looked around the room. “Can anyone tell me?”

He was met with silence as all the trainees considered the question. Vesper furrowed her brow in concentration, but she couldn’t for the life of her remember.

“You all should know this,” Ron said impatiently, “considering you all received Charms NEWTs. I know you learned it.” More silence. Ron sighed, shaking his head. “The charm used to create a pensieve memory draws not only details from our active memories, but also from our subconscious. We take in a lot more knowledge and detail than we realize, but not all of it is readily accessible to us when we try to recall an event. The Pensieve Charm lets us access those buried details, resulting in a richer, more realistic memory than what we can see in our mind’s eye. Now, why is this important? How does it help us?”

This time, many more hands shot up, obviously wanting to prove that they weren’t complete dunces, as Ron seemed to think they were at the moment.

“Ross,” said Ron, looking at Declan.

“A witness may remember more than they realize, subconsciously,” Declan answered. “There may be details pertinent to the case in the pensieve memory that don’t appear in the witness’ original statement.”

“Precisely,” Ron said. “It is very common for a witness to have left out something of significance without realizing it. A pensieve memory can fill in some of those gaps. It is also very useful in determining if a witness is being honest. There will almost always be small differences between the statement and the memory, but if there’s anything glaring or major, it gives us reason to be suspicious.”

Vesper raised her hand.

“Yes, Kemp?” Ron asked.

“But can’t pensieve memories be altered, if someone knows what they’re doing? Wouldn’t a witness who isn’t being honest try to then give you a false memory so they don’t get caught in the lie?”

Ron smiled. “An excellent point,” he said, and Vesper suppressed a pleased smile. “And one that leads to our next set of notes, in fact. Yes, sometimes you may receive pensieve memories that have been tampered with. There are many ways to try and alter a memory, but there are also signs that point to such a thing being done. Some are obvious, some more subtle. Write this down.” He waved his wand and a set of notes appeared on the chalk board behind him, detailing the ways to determine if a pensieve memory is genuine or if it has been tampered with. The trainees scrambled for ink and parchment and began scribbling notes furiously.

After those notes came more, talking about the protocols for analyzing a pensieve memory and what to look for. _I thought this lesson was going to be practical_ , Vesper thought, a little disappointed, as her wrist started to cramp up from writing.

But, to her delight, when the initial notes were done, Ron announced that they were going to practice memory analysis firsthand.

“Usually it’s been standard practice to teach you the basics and to discuss analysis in a theoretical way. But, frankly, it ends up being a load of rubbish, in my opinion,” he told the class. “You cannot become good at this sort of thing through theory alone. You need actual experience. So, I’ve designed a little class activity for you.”

All the trainees exchanged excited looks with each other. They, like Vesper, all preferred to do something interesting rather than sit there and take notes.

“It will be completed in pairs, which I will assign in a moment,” Ron went on. “Each team will receive a case file,” his hand fell onto a stack of files next to him on the desk, “which will contain case notes, witness accounts, and a pensieve memory from a key witness, all from real cases that Aurors have solved in the past using pensieve memories. You will familiarize yourself with the details of your assigned case, then analyze the provided memory. It is not your goal to solve the case outright, however I do expect you to use your analysis of the memory to find new lines of inquiry that haven’t been explored yet. Your marks will be based on the lines of inquiry you come up with, so be both creative and meticulous. Now, to the teams.” He conjured a piece of parchment and looked it over. “Abernathy and Fischer,” he started to read off, “Morgan and Dempsey, Green and Rothschild, Kemp and Ross…”

Vesper turned to Declan with a grin to find him already smiling at her. “A nice thing about being friends with the teacher, eh?” he said, and Vesper had to agree. Ron knew there were only certain trainees she would want to work with. She’d have been fine with Fischer or Green also, but Declan was definitely the best.

“All right, now you’re all paired up, come get a file,” Ron said. “Start reading. When you’re ready to begin analyzing the memory you can retrieve one of the pensieves from the back of the room. Levitation charms only!” he barked, making sure they heard him. “They’re heavy buggers. Don’t go trying to show off by carrying it yourself, or we’ll be taking you to St. Mungo’s to get your arms put back in your sockets.”

Vesper and Declan both chuckled at that. Vesper would not have put it past Dempsey to try something like that.

“All right, what have we got?” Declan asked her, looking over her shoulder as she opened the file.

“Looks like an abduction,” Vesper said, focusing on the notes in front of her instead of the way Declan’s presence behind her made her feel warm. She could feel his breath ever so lightly on her shoulder, and it was distracting. “Here,” she said, casting a Duplication Charm to make copies of all the notes. “That way we both can read.”

“Good thinking,” he said, taking the copies from her.

For the next half hour they read over the notes, occasionally making a comment when something came up that they found interesting. Declan starting taking notes on his copy, keeping track of details and questions they might want to return to later, which Vesper thought was prudent of him, and not something she would have thought to do.

The case seemed pretty straightforward. Two masked men had arrived at the home of Eamon and Eloise Parrish in the middle of the night. Having heard a noise downstairs, the couple went to investigate, where they confronted the men in the living room. Wands were drawn and a standoff ensued, at least until another man came in through the back and grabbed Eloise. Eamon engaged the men in a duel but was quickly overtaken and knocked unconscious. When he came to, his wife and her abductors were gone, and there was a ransom demand waiting for him on his kitchen table.

Eamon, who had a great deal of money thanks to a recent inheritance, considered simply paying the ransom, but ended up contacting the Aurors instead. It was the right call, but unfortunately their investigation hadn’t turned up anything of significance, at least according to the case notes so far. Of course, this case was actually an old one, and had already been solved. But they were only receiving case notes for part way through, to see if they could figure out the rest on their own.

“It had to be someone who knew about the inheritance,” said Declan. “That can’t be a coincidence. A man comes into a load of money and only a couple of weeks later, his wife is abducted?”

“I agree,” said Vesper. “So it’s likely someone he knows, at least peripherally.”

“Or someone she knows.”

“Maybe…” But Vesper was skeptical. Eloise Parrish lived a fairly insular life. She didn’t work, only kept the house, socialized with her friends, cooked, tended the garden… everything you’d expect from a housewife. It was hardly a life where she’d make a lot of enemies. “It’s more likely a connection to him, I think.” He was a lawyer, a prosecutor of dangerous criminals. It was likely someone was doing this to him out of revenge, with a nice payday in it for them as a bonus.

“Either way, I’m ready to see the memory whenever you are.”

“Sure, let’s do it.”

Declan levitated one of the pensieves over and put it on the desk.

“So, we’re looking for discrepancies between Parrish’s memory and his account of what happened, right?” Vesper said as Declan opened the vial and poured the memory into the stone basin.

“Right,” Declan agreed. “Plus any details that Parrish may not have thought to mention. We may have to watch it a few times though.”

She nodded, and they both bent over the swirling, misty liquid of the pensieve, plunging their faces in and immediately getting sucked into the memory.

They found themselves in a darkened bedroom in the middle of the night. Vesper could just make out two figures asleep in the bed. She longed to cast _lumos_ so she could see better, but knew it would be pointless. Such magic didn’t work inside a pensieve memory. She would only be able to see as well as Eamon Parrish himself did, which meant the room would remain dark, at least for now.

There was a sound downstairs, a crash of sorts. Eloise sat up immediately, followed not long after by Eamon.

“Did you hear that?” Eloise asked into the dark, her voice shaking with nerves.

“Yes, I did,” came Eamon’s deep drawl.

“I think someone’s downstairs.”

They sat quietly for a moment, listening. The sound of very faint footsteps could be heard, as well as the creak of a floorboard. It wasn’t as loud as the crash had been, but it was unmistakable.

Eamon lit his wand, much to Vesper’s satisfaction. She could see the room much more clearly now, and make out the lines of worry etched into Eamon Parrish’s face.

“Stay here,” he told his wife as he got out of bed. “I’ll have a look.”

But Eloise didn’t take obediently to that, just as Eamon had mentioned in his account. She grabbed her own wand off her bedside table and followed him out. Vesper and Declan followed as well.

“Don’t even bother to argue,” she told him in the quietest of murmurs, which Vesper could barely make out. “Two is safer than one.”

Eamon looked irritated but said nothing as the two made their way downstairs, wands drawn, stepping very carefully so as not to make a sound. Vesper and Declan both found themselves doing the same, even though they could be neither seen nor heard by anyone in the memory, of course. But it was just so quiet, they couldn’t help it.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs Eamon waved his wand to light the lamps, and that’s when the first spell was fired, coming from one of the two men dressed head to toe in black, face covered, who was standing in the sitting room, as if waiting for them.

Luckily Eamon was able to block the jinx, firing back a Disarming Charm, which was dodged.

“Get behind me!” Eamon said to his wife as he threw up a powerful shield in front of both of them.

“He’s a decent duelist,” Vesper remarked aloud. “Good reflexes.”

“And a strong shield,” Declan agreed. “That’s why there was a standoff. The abductors must have realized it was pointless to try and penetrate it.”

“Still,” Vesper said, watching the body language of the two men in black closely. “You think they would have tried _something_.”

“They’re stalling. Don’t forget, they’ve got their third man coming around the back.”

“That’s right.” Vesper turned just in time to see the third man in question come into view before making a beeline right for Eloise. She knew it was just a memory, but in that moment Vesper felt her heart start pounding as she watched the man seize Eloise around the waist and drag her, with her thrashing and screaming, out through the back door of the house. The screams especially sent chills right down her spine, and she had to force herself to stay in place and not try and help. She couldn’t do anything for Eloise. She had to stay and watch what happened next.

The action had already started by the time she turned back. Eamon had dropped his shield and was going after Eloise, shrieking her name. But a number of jinxes were thrown his way, and he turned momentarily to fire back, missing on both counts. Before he could make it to the back door, he was hit with a stunner from behind and was knocked out.

With this, the memory immediately began to swirl and Vesper felt a tugging sensation as she and Declan were lifted up and out of the memory. They landed feet first back in the classroom.

“Well, that happened fast,” Vesper said. “Thoughts so far?”

“It’s pretty in line with Eamon’s account,” Declan said. “I don’t think he was lying.”

“And there were no signs of memory tampering.”

“No, it seemed pretty clear. Still, there was something sort of odd about it.”

“I agree. It was… off, somehow.” She thought about it some more. “It was like… like they knew that Eamon and Eloise would both come downstairs, and were just waiting to ambush them.”

“You’re right. And that initial crash was loud, louder than I would have expected. Either they’re bumbling and incompetent, or they were that loud on purpose, to wake the couple up.”

“But why would they do that?” Vesper asked. “Why deliberately alert someone that you’ve broken into their house?”

“To draw them downstairs?”

“Yeah, but they only wanted Eloise, right? How could they have guaranteed that she would have followed her husband? What if she had stayed upstairs? It would have been a lot harder to get to her, and Eamon might have been effectively able to block them.”

Declan sighed. “You’re right.”

Vesper thought about it some more. “I think we need to watch it again.”

“I agree.”

They dove back in and were soon in the dark bedroom again. Vesper suggested that they try to listen more closely to what was happening downstairs, in case Eamon picked up on some conversation by the abductors that he hadn’t realized. But it was for naught. There was a light buzz of murmuring, but nothing intelligible.

The rest of the memory proceeded as it had before. Vesper did her best to try and pay attention to things she hadn’t been before, but didn’t catch anything new. Before she knew it Eamon was getting knocked unconscious again and they were being kicked out of the memory once more.

They stood together in the classroom, both of them lost in thought for a moment as the other teams worked around them.

“There’s just something…” Vesper said. “It was just too easy. It all went too smoothly for the abductors. So many things could have gone wrong with the plan, but they didn’t. It went perfectly.”

“I keep thinking about that third man,” said Declan. “How did he know it would be best to come through the back of the house? How did he know Eloise would be right there, within snatching distance?”

“The other two positioned them that way, set it up so Eamon was defending from the front.”

“So why wasn’t Eloise guarding from the back, then? She insisted on coming downstairs with him, but then she never fired a single spell.”

“Maybe she didn’t think to put a shield up. Maybe she was too scared, wasn’t thinking straight.” But Vesper found herself immediately rethinking that. “It doesn’t really track, though, does it? According to the notes, Eamon and Eloise met in a dueling club at Hogwarts. They were both competent duelists. She may have been a housewife but that didn’t make her useless. She should have at least attempted to defend herself with magic.”

“Did the third man take her wand when he grabbed her? Maybe that’s why she couldn’t defend herself.”

Vesper thought back, trying to remember what she had seen. But she couldn’t recall. “I don’t know. Maybe he did.”

“Well, let’s have a look then, shall we?”

So they went back in. This time, they agreed to both keep a watchful eye on Eloise. She seemed genuinely scared, although Vesper couldn’t help but note how quickly she reacted to the initial crash, almost like she had been expecting it. Still, Vesper couldn’t see anything amiss in her behavior as they made their way downstairs. She stuck close to her husband, looking around with wide, wary eyes. Her wand hand, Vesper noticed, was quite steady, though.

When the first jinx was fired she ducked rather than tried to block it, which Vesper thought an odd choice. But maybe it was automatic, instinctual. Maybe even with all of her dueling training her fight or flight response was still geared towards flight.

Eamon had thrown up his shield by now, while Eloise stood behind him, wand pointed at the abductors. But then, suddenly, as if she had heard a noise, her head turned, and she looked behind her. It was brief, only a second, but she had done it.

“Wait a second,” Vesper said aloud, her suspicions mounting. Because only a few seconds later the third man came into view and Eloise did it again, looked behind her, very briefly. When he was close she suddenly tensed, like she was waiting for an impact, before she was grabbed around the waist. And then, like a switch had been flicked, she started to scream and fight, her wand now easily captured in her abductor’s hand.

Eamon was calling after her now and jinxes were flying, but Vesper’s brain was already whirring into high gear, putting the pieces together.

 _She knew_. Eloise Parrish had known all along.

When they were out of the memory, she immediately turned to Declan. “Did you see what I saw?”

“She looked behind her,” Declan said. “Twice.”

“Like she knew it was coming.”

“She had to have seen him that second time.”

Their collective excitement was mounting.

“She was in on it,” Vesper said, pacing a little. “She had to be. She knew the plan, knew to ‘wake up’ at the sound of the crash, knew to follow her husband downstairs, knew to position herself where the third man could grab her easily.”

“It makes sense,” Declan said. “I have to say, though, that she’s a damn good actress. I could see why Eamon didn’t suspect for a moment, at least not consciously.”

“So, where do we go from here?" Vesper wondered, remembering the rest of the assignment. “I think it’s safe to assume she staged the abduction to get her hands on her husband’s inheritance. Why else would she have done it?”

“Yes, but I want to know what part the abductors played in all of this. Were they just hired muscle? Was she the mastermind of the whole thing, and she just paid them off? And where would she find people who would be willing to do it?”

“More importantly, I think, is the fact that she obviously trusted them. The third man, at least. She let him grab her, take her wand. I don’t think it could have been someone she hired off the street. It would have to be someone she felt safe with.”

“A lover, perhaps?”

“She was having an affair? That would make sense.”

“Maybe she was sick of playing housewife, wanted out. So she took a lover and then manipulated him into helping him fake an abduction.”

Vesper grinned. “How very femme fatale of her.”

Declan laughed. “Maybe, but do you have a better explanation?”

Vesper shook her head. “I sure don’t.”

“So, to your question, where do we go from here? What new lines of inquiry should we open?”

“Well, we need to establish motive. This is a very elaborate scheme, so there has to be a reason that she couldn’t get to his money by simpler means. I’d want to take a look at the couple’s financials, find out if there was any documentation in place protecting Eamon’s wealth, keeping her from accessing too much of it.”

“Good, good,” Declan said, nodding as he wrote that down.

“And I’d want to dig into her social life. Not the superficial, housewife stuff the Aurors had already looked at. I’d look into old connections, anything seedy. I’d check her datebook, see if there were any times where she wasn’t where she claimed to be. If she did have a lover I’d want to find out where they met up and how often, and what excuses she made to keep it from her husband.”

“So we would interview Eamon Parrish again, tell him what we’ve discovered, make him realize the truth, then hope he can give us more details of his wife’s comings and goings, see if there’s anything suspicious that he hadn’t thought of before.”

“Maybe get more pensieve memories of their previous interactions,” Vesper added, “watch her body language more closely, try to figure out what she’s hiding.”

“And try to find the identity of the lover, of course.”

“Of course.”

They kept brainstorming, and by the time they were done they’d filled an entire roll of parchment.

“This is a solid morning’s work,” Declan said with satisfaction as he looked at all they had come up with. “We make a good team.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Shall we turn it in, then?”

Vesper nodded, and they made their way to the front of the classroom, where Ron sat, watching things unfold.

“It looked promising over there, you two,” Ron said as he took the parchment and looked it over. A slow smile spread across his face as he read. “This is quite thorough,” he said. “Well done. Full marks.”

Vesper and Declan both cheered in celebration. Vesper even did a little victory dance right there, making the two men laugh.

“All right, don’t get cocky,” Ron said, giving her a look.

Vesper simply grinned at him. “So, we were right? She had a lover who helped her stage an abduction?”

“Your theory matches very closely the ones the Aurors on the case had, and they followed many of these lines of inquiry,” he replied, indicating the parchment. “But no, it turned out that she did not have a lover. It was her brother who helped her, along with two old friends of theirs from childhood, who were… not exactly law-abiding citizens, we could say. Either way, by digging deeper into Eloise Parrish’s personal life, they discovered the one she kept hidden, found where she as secretly meeting her brother to plan the abduction, and used that to track down her and the brother. I imagine if you were on the case, you would have gotten similar results.”

Vesper, though disappointed they hadn’t guessed exactly right, was gratified to know they had gotten close. It made her feel better about her own investigative skills and the prospect of using them once she was on the job.

“What do we do now?” she asked.

Ron looked at his watch. “Take lunch, I suppose. Field training begins at 1, as you know.” He was interrupted as Morgan and Dempsey approached to turn in their parchment and get graded. Both men threw Vesper dirty looks, and she rolled her eyes.

_That’s right, jerk-offs, I beat you here. Live with it._

“So, you’re off for now,” Ron was saying, getting Vesper’s attention again. “Just be ready at 1.”

Vesper and Declan thanked Ron for the lesson and left to grab some lunch, feeling elated.

“That was awesome,” Vesper said. “I wish we could do that again. I’d like to practice with a new case, see what the differences are.”

Declan smiled. “Yeah, I can see why pensieve memories are so useful. How would we have figured out the truth otherwise?”

“I bet if I asked Ron he’d give us new cases to practice with in our free time.”

Declan chuckled. “You never do things by halves, do you?”

Vesper merely shrugged. No, she didn’t. If she was going to work to be good at something, she was never actually going to stop at good. She was going to be exceptional. She was going to be the best.

“What do you say to a celebration tonight?” Declan asked her. “Drinks, just you and me?”

Her heart fluttered a little at the invitation before remembering that she’d already made plans. “I’d love to, but I can’t tonight,” she said, genuinely sorry. “I’m having dinner with Harry and his godson.”

“Ah, I see how it is,” Declan said with a grin. “Blowing me off to go hang out with the Savior of the wizarding world? You’re just that cool.”

She gave him a playful nudge with her elbow. “It’s not like that, and you know it.”

He laughed. “I know.”

“But I do want to hang out this weekend.” She had a sudden idea. “Do you like parties?”

“It depends on who’s attending.”

“Well this one would be a birthday party for the fiancée of a certain Auror Weasley, and would be attended by a hell of a lot of Gryffindors, who you likely know, as well as some Slytherins, I’m sure, from Draco Malfoy’s cohort. Plus some other random folks, like me. But all good people.”

Declan raised his eyebrows. “You’re inviting me to Hermione Granger’s birthday party?”

“Sure, do you want to go? It’s kind of on the earlier side… starts at five, I think, so the people with kids can come without having to get a sitter. We’d be done by eight and could grab drinks together afterwards.”

Declan was smiling widely now, a smile that made Vesper’s insides lurch pleasantly. “I’d love that. It sounds like fun.”

“Great,” Vesper said, realizing she sounded a little breathy. “I’ll give you my address and you can come over around… what do you think? 5:30? And we can go together.”

“Sounds perfect.”

They both bought sandwiches at the lunch cart and then made their way to the rec room to eat. They chatted pleasantly, and Vesper outwardly enjoyed the conversation. On the inside though, there was a bit of a war going on. Inviting Declan to the party had been a bit impulsive. She wasn’t really sorry she had; she did genuinely want to spend time with him. But she’d also just talked to Blaise about how she’d see him there as well.

Was she unconsciously playing the two men? That certainly wasn’t what she _wanted_ to be doing. In actuality, she knew she liked Declan but was still not sure what she wanted from him. And when it came to Blaise, well… she supposed in the end she was just trying to find some way to separate herself from him, get out of this relationship limbo they both seemed to be dancing in. And maybe Declan was her way out. Maybe he could be just the distraction she needed.

And then she felt guilty all over again. Declan deserved better than that. On the other hand, she knew, as he smiled at her and laughed at her jokes, she wasn’t about to rescind the invitation either.

***

The moment Vesper left the floo and landed on her feet in Harry’s sitting room, she was besieged by a tiny human who squealed and immediately wrapped his limbs around her leg.

“Oh no! A Ted-monster!” she cried, as she always did when Teddy did this. “How will I ever escape?”

She shook her leg out, trying (half-heartedly) to dislodge him, but he only held on tighter, giggling madly.

“I’m done for!” she said, throwing her head back dramatically. “This is the end! He’s just too strong!”

"Teddy, are you attacking Vesper again?” came Harry’s voice from the kitchen. The man himself appeared a moment later, wiping his hands on a dishrag.

“Yes,” said Teddy, and he smiled up at Vesper.

“It’s all right, don’t even worry about it,” Vesper said. She started to try and walk, picking up her leg with the five-year-old on it and taking a step. Teddy started giggling again. “I’ll just walk around like this for the rest of my life. No big deal.”

She knew she must look ridiculous, as Harry was starting to laugh now, too, but she didn’t mind. Not at all. She lumbered over to Harry and he gave her a kiss on the cheek.

“I was just about to start dinner,” he said.

“Perfect, I’ll help.”

“Me too!” cried Teddy, finally letting go of Vesper’s leg. “I wash all the vegetables!”

“That’s right,” said Harry. “That’s your job. And to set the table, remember?”

Teddy nodded and got to work, and Harry looked at Vesper again, who grinned.

“How’s it going, Papa?” she asked him.

“It’s going,” he said. Vesper took a moment to study his face, noticing the subtle bags under his eyes. “It’s good, actually.”

“Harry!” Teddy called from the kitchen. “Can we play music please?”

Harry sighed. “Of course, of course.” He indicated for Vesper to follow him, and they made their way into Harry’s shiny modern kitchen. It was Vesper’s dream kitchen, actually, and she had decided, when she one day had enough money saved to hire some magical renovators, she would turn her own kitchen into something similar. “Do you want to help Teddy pick something out?” Harry asked her, indicating the stereo.

“Sure, happy to.” She crossed the room to join Teddy. “What do you think, Ted? What’s your favorite?”

“The mix!” he said.

She heard Harry laugh from the range. “I should have guessed.”

“What’s the mix?”

“It’s a CD I put together with some of his favorite songs. I noticed he would get tired of listening to a whole album all the way through so I made something that has a little bit of everything.”

“What’s on it?”

Teddy handed her the case and she looked at the track list, written out in Harry’s masculine scrawl. “Fell in Love with a Girl” by the White Stripes, “Immigrant Song” by Led Zeppelin, “Obvious Child” by Paul Simon…

“This looks good,” she said. “Let’s do it.”

She helped him put the CD in the stereo, and after a few seconds the raw sounds of Jack White’s guitar could be heard, followed not long after by Meg on the drums. Teddy immediately jumped around excitedly, (sort of) dancing along to the music. Vesper decided to play along, banging her head and doing her best air-guitar. Teddy giggled at her. “You’re silly,” he said.

“Yes, I am well aware,” she replied. She put a hand on his head. “Come on, rock star, let’s help Harry.”

Teddy went to sink, climbing up on a little step stool so he could reach inside, and started washing the tomatoes and cucumbers, just as he’d promised. Vesper joined Harry at the range.

“He’s got a lot of energy,” she said to him quietly.

“Yes, he does.” Harry gave her a wry smile. “He’s often like this right before dinner. He’s just had his quiet time so he’s reenergized.”

“Well I’ll do my best to wear him out, I promise.”

“It is much appreciated,” said Harry.

With the vegetables washed Vesper started prepping them for the salad while Harry seasoned a pork tenderloin and then set to pan searing it. “I was going to make an orange sauce,” he told her. “What do you think?”

“Sounds great,” she said. “Much more gourmet than I usually do.”

“I’m trying to keep my skills up. I modify things for Teddy, of course. He’ll probably just eat his with brown sauce. But I don’t want to lose everything I’ve learned over the years. Plus, Draco has a more sophisticated palate, and I’m trying to keep him happy as well.”

“You are just too good, Harry Potter,” she told him. “No one would blame you if you took the easier route.”

Harry shrugged. “If it makes my boys happy, why not? It’s not that much more work, honestly.”

She gave Harry’s back an appreciative rub as she handed him off the shallot she had chopped for him the sauce. Draco and Teddy were two very lucky guys.

“So, how’s work?” she asked him.

They continued to cook as he told her about what was going on at the Foundation and how smoothly the after school program was running.

“I think I’ll enroll Teddy in it next year,” Harry said. “He’ll be old enough then and I think he’d like it.”

“That’s a great idea.”

Eventually Teddy was done setting the table and wanted to be entertained, so Vesper left Harry to go dance around with the boy some more, as the stereo was now playing “Love You Madly” by Cake, one of Vesper’s favorites. It had the added bonus of (hopefully) getting a lot of Teddy’s energy out, so he could sit still for dinner and start winding down for the day.

Luckily it seemed to work, as by the time Harry declared dinner ready Teddy was all danced out and came willingly. They all enjoyed their meal as they listened to Teddy talk about his day, especially his friends. Teddy was very focused on other people, what they were doing, what they were feeling, more than he was on himself. Vesper found that very impressive. She wondered if it was an inherent trait or if he learned it from being raised by Andromeda and Harry, two very generous, selfless people.

Dinner was delicious as well, cooked perfectly, complete with the glass of red wine that Harry had poured her without even asking. Of course, he knew what she liked. He was just that kind of guy.

Still, she had to admit she was a little relieved when Harry announced that it was time for Teddy’s bath, signaling the start of his nighttime routine. The boy was wonderful, what any parent would want, but he still required a lot of energy. Vesper wondered how Harry managed it day in and day out without keeling over. Although, come to think of it, he did look a little worse for wear.

“Do you want any help?” she asked him.

“Thanks, but I’ve got it well in hand. Maybe you want to read Teddy a story before he goes to bed?”

“Yes!” said Teddy. “Please Vesper, read me a story?”

“I’d be happy to,” Vesper said.

She joined Harry in the bathroom while Teddy took his bath, chatting about this and that while the boy played with his toy ships in the water. When he was all clean Harry wrapped him in a towel and rubbed him down, then set to persuading him into his pajamas. By the time all was said and done, Teddy was yawning, and Vesper wondered if they would even make it through a whole story before he drifted off to sleep.

She’d underestimated Teddy’s love of books, however, and after she had finished a story from _Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and one of Teddy’s favorite Muggle stories about Winnie the Pooh, she had to put her foot down and tell him to go to sleep.

“You’ve got a big day tomorrow,” she reminded him. “You’re going to Hermione’s party and there will be lots of people you know there. You don’t want to be too tired for that, do you?”

Teddy shook his head. “No.”

“So, best to get plenty of sleep now, don’t you think?”

Teddy considered that. “All right,” he said finally.

She and Harry both kissed Teddy goodnight and tucked him in, which was an important part of the ritual as well. Then they went downstairs for some well-earned grown-up time.

Harry settled them on the sofa in the sitting room with a beer each, and they both sat there for a bit, enjoying the quiet.

“You seem tired,” she told Harry finally, hoping he would open up to her about it a bit.

Harry snorted before taking a sip of his beer. “That’s because I am,” he said.

“Teddy?”

He nodded. “Parenting is exhausting. I mean, I knew it would be. But I will readily admit I wasn’t fully prepared for what a full-time job it is. And with Draco at the hospital so much, it falls on me a lot of the time to do everything. That’s why it was so great to have you here tonight, honestly.”

Vesper smiled warmly. “I was happy to come over. Though I don’t feel like I really did all that much.”

“You did more than you know. Really.” 

“Well, I can see how much work it is, but you’re doing a really good job with him. He seems really happy.”

“He’s adjusting well,” Harry agreed. “I can tell he misses Andromeda, though, and I think that will only get worse and worse until he gets to see her.”

“And that won’t be for a while, right?”

“Yeah. The first round of treatment took a lot out of her. So we all agreed it would be best to wait until she bounces back a bit. She’s looking pretty sickly right now, and she doesn’t want Teddy to see her that way, understandably. She wants to protect him.”

Vesper nodded. “Yeah, I get that.”

“So…” Harry sighed. “We wait. Teddy waits. We’ll see how long he can hold out before it really starts to affect him.”

“It might not be as bad as you think,” Vesper said, trying to reassure him. “He has you, and sometimes Draco, and it’s obvious he sees you as his dad. It’s really sweet, actually.”

Harry smiled. “I hope he feels that way. Because I certainly see him as my son, that’s for sure.”

Vesper felt a strong surge of affection overtake her. “You are just too freaking adorable sometimes,” she told him with a playful shove. “If you weren’t a happily committed man I’d totally make out with you right now.”

Harry laughed. “And incur Draco’s wrath for making a move on me? Trust me, it wouldn’t be worth it.”

“That big softie? I can take him.”

Harry raised his eyebrows skeptically. “You’ve only seen his good side. But believe me when I say, when he’s angry, he’s a force to be reckoned with.”

Vesper grinned, but in truth, she believed it. She believed it of all of her friends here in the UK. They had been through a war. They had been through things she couldn’t imagine. They were all wonderful, generous, warm people on the outside. But on the inside, buried under all that humanity, they were strong, hard, and unforgiving. Trauma did that to you. She knew all too well.

“Even so, I bet you _are_ worth it,” she said with a wink, and Harry rolled his eyes.

Of course, he knew she was kidding. This was just one of the ways she showed her affection. She would never do anything to jeopardize her friendship with Harry or Draco, or their relationship with each other. Both men were way too important to her.

Still, she’d be lying to herself if she didn’t at least internally acknowledge that she’d thought about it. Harry was a catch by any measure: honest, loyal, kind, selfless, and with a sex appeal that was hard to pinpoint. He was nice to look at, sure, but it was more than that. Maybe it was the lack of concern, the lack of vanity. Or his quiet strength and confidence, like he had nothing to prove to anyone. Whatever it was, it made him incredibly sexy.

In another life, one where Harry wasn’t already madly in love with Draco by the time he and Vesper had first met, one where she hadn’t fallen hard for Blaise not long after, she could imagine them getting together. But that wasn’t the life they were living, and she was content, in this one, to have her friendship with Harry. That was enough.

“What about you?” Harry asked her, characteristically steering the conversation away from himself. “How are things going?”

“Auror training is great,” she told him honestly. ”I mean, it’s kicking my ass, but in a good way. And Ron’s an awesome teacher.”

“That’s good to hear,” said Harry. “I know he was nervous when he accepted the post. He’s so used to being in the field, he wasn’t sure how he’d do in the classroom.”

“He could do it on a permanent basis,” Vesper said. “The Auror Corps would be better off for it, honestly. We did this great practical lesson today on pensieve memories… apparently Ron designed it himself, said the classroom portion used to be too traditional on that subject, so he changed it. It was amazing. I learned so much.”

“So you’re happy with your decision?”

Vesper nodded. “Yeah. Really happy. I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

“Good. I’m glad.” He took another sip of his beer. “And what about that bloke, Declan? You still hanging around with him?”

Vesper felt her stomach give a lurch. “Yeah, I am. I invited him to Hermione’s party, actually.”

“Really? Like, as a date?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe. But I…” She bit her lip. “There's a chance I might have done it for the wrong reasons.”

“What do you mean?”

She glanced at her friend, wondering if she wanted to get into this. But Harry wouldn’t judge. He would be honest, sure, but he wouldn’t tell her what to do.

“I don’t know how to get over Blaise,” she said.

“Ah,” he said in a knowing tone.

“I try and I try, and every time I think I’m making progress it just… I don’t know. I get sucked back in. I guess I thought… I _hoped_ that spending more time with Declan might make me stop thinking about Blaise. Because I like Declan a lot. I could actually see something happening with him. But then I think about Blaise and about how I’m not really over him yet and I feel guilty. I don’t want to use Declan or anything.”

Harry nodded. “Of course not. But are you sure that’s what you’re doing?”

“I don’t know,” Vesper replied. “Sometimes I think it is, sometimes I think it isn’t.” She looked at him. “Have you ever done anything like that? Pursued someone just to get over an ex?”

Harry took a moment to think about it. “Not really,” he said. “Although…” His cheeks turned pink. “Well, it’s not exactly the same situation...”

“What?” Vesper asked, her mouth breaking out into an involuntary grin. She loved Harry’s rare moments of self-consciousness. “Tell me.”

He looked at her sideways. “Not a lot of people know this. Draco does, of course, but not Ron or Hermione. I think they would be a bit upset with me, if they knew. Ron especially.”

“I won’t tell,” Vesper promised, now eager for the information. “What is it?”

“I sort of… well… I wouldn’t acknowledge it to myself at the time, but I sort of had a bit of a crush on Draco before I broke up with Ginny.”

“Really…” Vesper said, thinking that over. She’d always understood that Harry’s relationship with Ginny and the one with Draco had been completely separate.

“Yeah. I mean, it wasn’t as simple as all that. I was attracted to him, but there was all this history and animosity and I didn’t think for a moment… well, suffice it to say that the attraction was there, but he wasn’t the reason I broke up with Ginny. We just weren’t compatible, in the end. But immediately following the breakup I’d turned my attention to Draco pretty fixedly, looking back on it. Again, I couldn’t acknowledge what I really wanted, not then, but the feelings were there.”

“Do you think it helped you get over Ginny?”

“Honestly, yeah, I think it did. I would have gotten over her anyway, because I felt good about my decision to end it from the beginning. But thinking about Draco, having even just the slightest prospect of something in the future, it helped take my mind off her. I never really gave myself the chance to wonder if it was a mistake or to have regrets.”

“And it was better that way, to not have regrets?”

“For me, yeah. Not for Ginny so much,” he added, looking sheepish. “We never really found our way back to a strong friendship, as you well know, and I think the fact that I moved on so quickly had a lot to do with it.”

Vesper nodded. She didn’t know Ginny as well as she knew the rest of Harry’s cohort, and that was because she very much had her own separate life now. She was on good terms with Harry and Draco, and still close with her family, of course. But her main social circle was the British Quidditch league, particularly her teammates on the Holyhead Harpies. Sports was her world, and she didn’t step out of it all that much.

Would that happen to her with Blaise, if she started dating someone else right now? Would it ruin any chance they could have at a real friendship?

“I don’t want to lose Blaise,” she admitted. “That’s part of the problem. I don’t want to let him go. I want him to be in my life somehow. But we were never really friends, before we got together, so I don’t know what a friendship with him would look like. I don’t know how to separate my romantic feelings for him from my other feelings.”

Harry nodded. “Sure, that makes sense.”

“On the other hand, though, part of me obviously does want to get over him, because I keep pushing myself towards Declan, so…” She sighed heavily. “I don’t know.”

“Do you want to know what I think?”

“Yes. Very much.”

“I think there’s nothing wrong with hanging around with Declan, even getting close to him, so long as you don’t rush into anything.”

“You mean, don’t rush into anything physical?”

“Exactly. Just leave the sex out of it for a while. Sex can confuse everything, trust me.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

“I am.” His cheeks had turned pink again. “When Draco and I… well, our first physical encounter, you might say… it was mostly lust-driven. It wasn’t until afterward, when Draco made us take a step back, that I could start to see that I was actually in love with him. I think if we had kept fooling around from the beginning, I wouldn’t have seen things so clearly. But we kept it as a friendship for a few weeks, and it made me realize, when we finally did get together, that I wanted something real with him, something serious. It’s possible the same thing could happen with you and Declan.”

“You think? We could have potential?”

“Well, I haven’t seen you two together, so I can’t say for sure. But it has been about five months now, hasn’t it? And Declan is the first guy you’ve shown any interest in. I think that says something. Maybe you’re drawn to him because you could really genuinely like him, but it’s all clouded because of Blaise right now. But if you gave yourself time… who knows what could happen?”

Vesper thought that over, realizing Harry was right. Declan was the first man she’d even looked at twice since the breakup. She’d been so closed off, unwilling to let anyone new into her life, but she suddenly found herself drawn to someone. That had to mean something, right? Maybe things could unfold with Declan the way they did for Harry and Draco, if she gave it the chance. Maybe she was finally healing from everything that had happened.

And wouldn’t that be nice? To be free?

However, there was still one thing that she had to do. She had to stay away from Blaise. She had to put an end to these little trysts that felt good in the moment but so confusing afterward. She could never find her way to clarity if she kept seeing him, so she had to stay away.

But the question remained, was she strong enough?


	11. Death by Chocolate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's party! I know some of you were looking forward to what unfolds here :) 
> 
> This is the chapter I've had to rewrite the most so far, I think. There are definitely parts of this fic that are far from perfect, and I'm still not sure I achieved exactly what I wanted to with this installment. Feedback is always appreciated.
> 
> Thanks loves! <3

(Hermione)

The thumb stroked lightly across Hermione’s hand in an absent way, a way that reminded her that the owner of said thumb might not realize exactly what they were doing. Still, she found it soothing, and she let herself drift into a sort of meditative state while she watched her father on the other side of the room fidget with a set of magnets she had brought him from home. He’d always liked to fidget, and though he still had not spoken in over three weeks, he was at least no longer catatonic, and was actually demonstrating some old habits. Hermione decided to take it as a promising beginning.

The hand on hers suddenly tightened, pulling her attention away from her father. She met her mother’s eyes with a question.

“Soup,” her mother said.

Hermione turned to glance at the little table next to her mother’s wheelchair, where a half-eaten bowl of vegetable soup was still steaming away. The Mediwitch who brought it had placed a charm on it that would keep it just the right temperature, which was good, because it had gone ignored by Jean Granger for the past half hour. Now, though, she seemed to remember it was there.

“Would you like more, Mum?” she asked. She wanted to be sure she understood. Her mother was no longer babbling incoherently, but rather only speaking when she wanted something. She was capable of conveying her desires, thankfully, but still could not speak in full sentences, so it sometimes took a while for Hermione to figure out what she meant.

Her mother nodded, and Hermione picked up the bowl. She lifted the spoon and brought it to her mother’s lips. The mouth opened and took the spoon happily.

“Mmm, yummy, right?” Hermione encouraged.

“Yummy,” her mother echoed, after she had swallowed.

Hermione smiled. She had never thought such a simple exchange would please her, but this was progress. Her mother still did not seem to know who she was or where she was, and she did not recognize Hermione as her daughter. But her language processing had increased considerably, and that was something.

She fed her mother a few more spoonfuls, then set the bowl down once it was clear she was no longer interested in eating. Jean took Hermione’s hand again, and Hermione squeezed it in reassurance. No, Jean might not have known who Hermione was, exactly, but she knew she was a friend.

There was a knock on the door, and Hermione turned to see Joseph Goddard, her parents’ Therapeutic Legilimens, enter, greeting her with a smile.

“Healer Goddard,” she said. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Ms. Granger,” he said. “Is this a good time to talk?”

“Sure.” Hermione had been hoping to sit down with the Mind Healer during her visit, wanting a progress report on her parents. She could see visibly that there was improvement, but the Healer’s take on it, the analysis of the progress, was even more valuable.

Healer Goddard grabbed another chair from near her father’s bed and set it down next to Hermione. He sat in it, meeting her eyes with his warm brown ones.

“You can see the change?”

“Very much so,” she said. “Mum especially. Her words mean something now.”

“Yes,” Goddard agreed. “That was the important first step we were hoping for.”

“How did you achieve it?” She’d followed Goddard’s explanation of the treatment the first time they had met, how the Healer would use Legilimency to slowly piece together the fragments of her mother and father’s psyches that were currently in disarray inside their minds. The first thing to focus on, he had said then, was their ability to communicate, to accurately process the world around them and be able to express their experience through language. The rest: their memories, their sense of self, that would come later.

“Your mother’s psyche is less fractured than your father’s,” Goddard replied. Hermione nodded. She was aware of this already. “I’ve begun reconstructing her language center, giving her back the ability to represent objects, people, feelings, and ideas through sound. But this is a process. You’ll notice she is most likely to acknowledge the physical things that are right in front of her, things she can touch, see, hear. Things that are abstract, things that she feels or thinks, they will come next. We’re not quite there yet, as you might have noticed already. For example, when she’s tired, she doesn’t say that she is tired. She simply says, ‘bed.’ She knows the thing, the _physical_ thing, she wants, but she cannot yet articulate why.”

Hermione nodded along, understanding. She had seen the same thing firsthand, when her mother had asked for the soup. She didn’t say what she was feeling: “hungry,” just what she knew would help alleviate it: “soup.”

“And when do you think that ability to express more abstract things… when do you think that will resurface?”

“Soon, we hope,” Goddard said. “As I told you two weeks ago, the process is a delicate one. It requires time and patience. However, the truly extraordinary thing about the mind, about a robust mind, anyway, is that it _wants_ to heal. I’ve begun the process of reconstruction, but now that it’s going that process can continue even when I am not actively helping. I’ve already seen that with your mother, and that is a very good sign. Her mind wants to be reconstructed, and will therefore do much of the work on its own.”

Hermione absorbed that. “She’ll be able to speak in complete sentences again, eventually?”

“Eventually, yes. Grammar is more complicated than vocabulary, as I’m sure you know if you’ve ever tried to learn a foreign language. It requires more… cognitive capacity, I suppose you could say, than your mother has at the moment. But I believe it’s only a matter of time until the language center is fully reconstructed.”

“And then we’ll focus on getting her memory back.”

“Yes, that would be the next logical step.”

“And my father?”

Goddard sighed. “His psyche is… in more pieces, as I mentioned the other week. But it’s more than that. The first step with him was simply… it’s hard to put it into words exactly… I more _felt_ it, in his mind. But he was not aware of the world. He wasn’t… taking in stimuli like you would expect. That was the cause of his catatonia, I believe. So the first order of business was… unlocking his perception, as it were. It’s ongoing, to be honest. He sees what’s right in front of him. He’ll accept food when it’s presented. But…” He glanced towards Greg Granger and Hermione did the same. “As you can see, he gives no acknowledgement that he can see or hear us now. I don’t think he would unless we got closer, put ourselves within his current radius of perception. Everything outside of that radius doesn’t exist for him, at this point.”

“Sort of like an infant without object permanence,” Hermione speculated.

“Exactly. But I’m working on expanding that radius, until he can take in all the stimuli around him. Then we’ll focus on getting him talking.”

Hermione suppressed a sigh. There was no question that her parents were making progress and that Healer Goddard was obviously competent, but there was still so far to go. “I know it might be hard to gauge, at this point, but do you have any sense of how long it will take for them to fully recover?”

“To _fully_ recover?” Goddard said. “That is impossible to say. There will come a time when I have done about all that I can do, and the rest of the healing is up to them. But I can tell you I’m going to need a few more months with your mother, and possibly up to six months with your father, to get them on the way to recovering their memories fully. After that, it all might resolve itself quite quickly. Or it could take many more months. I have no way of knowing.”

 _Many months_. “I understand,” she said. “It’s just that… I only ask because I’m getting married in May. Obviously I would like for them to be there. I'm just wondering if... perhaps it would be better to postpone, or...”

Goddard bowed his head sympathetically. “That is hard to say. May is eight months away, which gives us a good deal of time, more than my estimate for what's needed. Your mother could very well be completely recovered by then, and your father may be recovered enough, at least, to be there for you at your wedding. There is certainly hope, and realistic hope at that. However, as you know, I can't give you any guarantees.”

Hermione nodded along with what he was saying. It was all reasonable; it all made sense. But it didn't leave her with an answer about what she should do.

"Obviously you and your fiancé ought to do what you feel is right," Goddard went on. "However, I can tell you from experience, having watched the loved ones of my patients wrestle with similar questions..." He sighed. "It tends to be best, I've found, for loved ones to continue to live their lives, to visit and provide support when they can but not put their lives on indefinite hold. It's a long road, sometimes, Ms. Granger, and sometimes waiting means waiting a long time. I have no doubt that your parents would not want you to build your life or your future entirely around their recovery." She met his eyes, then, and saw the earnest concern there. "It's just something for you to think about," he added.

Hermione nodded. It was most certainly something to think about. And she knew she would have to do a lot of thinking.

But now was not necessarily the time to think about it. She had a big day ahead of her, seeing as it was her birthday party that evening, and just about everyone she knew was going to be there.

She suppressed a sigh. Truth be told, she really wasn’t in a party mood. Everything that was happening with her parents was zapping her energy, and what she really wanted was to curl up with Ron on the sofa and watch some telly.

There was nothing she could do about it now though, and she really had no one to blame but herself. When Ron asked her what she wanted to do for her birthday over a month ago, she had surprised him by saying that she wanted a big party. Usually she did something small, dinner and drinks with some close friends, but they’d just moved into their new house only a few months before and she’d thought a housewarming sort of thing would be nice.

She hadn’t known then what would transpire only a couple of weeks later, and of course by then Ron had already set the party preparations in motion, recruiting Molly and Fleur to do the food and sending out all the invitations. It was all already underway, and Hermione knew it wouldn’t do to cancel.

She took her leave, thanking Healer Goddard and kissing each of her parents goodbye.

When she arrived at home she stepped out of the floo and took a few seconds to gather herself. Now, away from the hospital, from her parents, from the Healers, she could start to forget, if she let herself. She could set it aside and be her normally good-natured self. And that was important today.

She walked into the kitchen to find Ron fixing himself a sandwich.

“There you are,” he said. “I was starting to get worried.”

“Oh, sorry,” she said. “Just took a bit longer than I thought.”

“That’s all right.” He leaned over to give her a kiss, and she obliged. “So, how are they? Any better?”

“Only a little,” Hermione replied. She had told Ron that her parents were sick, only... not the kind of sick she really meant. She had intended to go visit them, and when Ron asked why, she had every intention of telling him the real reason as well. She got as far as "They're not well" before she choked, seeing the concern already pooling in Ron's eyes. She found she couldn't go farther, knowing that once she said it she wouldn't be able to unsay it, knowing what a cloud it would cast over the day and the party. So she said that her parents had the Muggle flu instead, and she was just going by their house to check on them.

And, at that moment, she had gone from lies of omission to actual falsehoods, and she had to wonder how she had let it go this far.

 _Soon_ , she told herself, as she had done a thousand times already. _I’ll tell him soon._

“You hungry?” he asked. “Can I make you a sandwich?”

“Sure, I’ll have what you’re having.”

He nodded and set to work. “Well, I’m sorry they won’t be here. I know they were looking forward to it.”

“Yeah…”

“I thought maybe they’d kick it by this morning, be able to make it over for a bit.”

Hermione shook her head. “It’s best if they just rest, I think.”

Ron looked at her, his face sympathetic, and it only made her feel worse. “If it was a small thing I would say we should just reschedule, but-“

“No,” Hermione said quickly. “We can’t possibly reschedule now. Not with everyone who’s already RSVPed.”

Ron nodded his agreement. “We’ll just do something with them a little later on, yeah, once they’re better?”

“Sure,” Hermione said. “That sounds nice.” It wouldn’t be happening of course, but Ron was not always good at keeping track of such things, so it was likely he would forget about the idea unless she specifically scheduled it.

There was an acidic churning in her stomach, and she gratefully accepted the sandwich and a glass of pumpkin juice from Ron, if only to have something else to think about.

“Mum and Fleur are coming around three,” Ron informed her between bites of his lunch. “The place is clean and we should have plenty of time to set everything up once they arrive, so we’ve got some time.”

“That’s good.”

“I thought you might fancy a nap or something. Or a little rest, at least, to be ready for the party. You didn’t sleep that well last night.”

“You’re right, I didn’t,” she said, licking a bit mayonnaise off her thumb. “That sounds like a good idea.”

“Good then.” He gave her a small but very warm smile.

“Are you going to join me?”

“For your nap?”

She nodded. “Would you like to?”

He chuckled. “Do you want me to?”

“Would I have asked if I didn’t want you to?”

“Are we going to keep talking in questions?”

She giggled. “Would you like to keep talking in questions?”

“I would _like_ to take a nap with you, I think.”

“Good.” She smiled at him over her pumpkin juice.

She was quite looking forward to the prospect of a rest, actually. It might be just what she needed to get into the mindset to socialize with dozens of people for a few hours.

When they went upstairs to bed Hermione found herself stripping down to nothing. It was a warm day, and she quite liked the idea of the cool, soft sheets on her bare skin.

“Is this a naked nap we’re having then?” Ron asked her as he removed his shirt.

"The best kind," she answered, sliding into bed and sighing softly. Yes, it was perfect.

Ron seemed to agree, since he too removed his jeans and his pants, and then slid in next to her.

She inched closer to him, seeking his embrace, and he wrapped his arms around her. She hummed in contentment, enjoying feeling so much of her bare skin against his. She nuzzled her nose into his chest and settled in.

They lay there for a while, just breathing and sighing, and Hermione found herself already starting to feel better. She was a bit tired after all, but it was mostly mental fatigue, and she found she didn’t really want to sleep. She just wanted to be close to Ron.

She pulled away a little so she could meet Ron’s eyes and smiled lazily at him.

“What did you get up to this morning?” she asked.

“Worked out for a couple of hours, had a shower, finished cleaning,” he said. “Nothing exciting.”

“I don’t understand how you can work out for a couple of hours and not be totally exhausted.” Hermione did occasionally exercise, when she felt like it, but she’d never had a regular routine. Not like Ron, whose Auror training kept him on a strict fitness regimen.

“It’s just habit, now,” he said. “If I don’t do it every day I feel a bit off.”

“I suppose I should be thankful,” she said, running her hands over his chiseled abdomen.

He grinned. “Not like the flabby bloke I was back at Hogwarts, eh? How you ever went for me, I’ll never know.” He reached out, lightly stroking her stomach as she was stroking his.

Hermione scoffed. “You were hardly ever _flabby_ ,” she said. “You were lanky. But you had hardly any fat on you at all.”

“I had a bit. I would say I was flabby. No muscle, at any rate.”

“Well, I still thought you were fit.”

“Miracle of miracles.”

“I _did_.”

“Yeah sure. I was a real Adonis. The object of all your adolescent fantasies, no doubt.”

“The object of some of my fantasies, at any rate.”

“Oh yeah?” He wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Did you touch yourself, thinking about me?”

Hermione bit her lip to fight a mischievous smile. “I might have, at some point.”

Ron’s hands continued to dance across her stomach. “Oh, now, don’t play coy with me, little girl,” he said.

“You know I did.” She could feel her cheeks getting hot.

“No, I really don’t.” He said reasonably. “People like to think about different things when they wank. I wouldn’t assume you were the same as me, always thinking about the object of your affection. You could have thought about other people, people you don’t even know. You could have just been thinking about how good it felt to be touched like that.”

She glanced sideways at him. He had a point. “That’s true. Sometimes I just imagined two people doing it together, you know. Like a porno in my head.”

He snorted. “That’s a good way of putting it.”

“But I’ve seen real porn, and the stuff in my mind was much hotter,” she said, and she sounded almost proud of herself.

Ron was grinning down at her. “I bet. I bet that quick little mind of yours was always thinking of kinky things, wasn’t it? Creative things?”

“Maybe.” She licked her lips. “But I _did_ think about you sometimes, you know. And I… I dreamed about you.”

“Yeah?” His eyes brightened. “What sort of dreams?”

“You _know_ what sort of dreams.”

“Yes, but I want to know the details. What happened in them? What was I doing? What were you doing?”

“It varied from dream to dream.”

“All right, well tell me about the first time, then? You do remember the first time, don’t you?” His voice had gone soft, but unbelievably deep, soaked in sensuality.

Yes, she remembered the first time. She remembered it vividly. “It was fifth year,” she said, her voice as soft as his. “I dreamed you were… going down on me.”

He hummed appreciatively at that. “One of my very favorite things. Did it feel good?”

“Yes, of course it felt good.”

“Me kissing you. Licking you. Did I like doing it?”

Her internal muscles clenched in pleasure. “Yes. You were moaning… saying my name.”

“Mmm, I bet I was. Did you come?”

“Not in my sleep. I couldn’t. I kept getting closer and closer but I couldn’t get there. It woke me up, and I was so…”

“Yes…”

“I was so… turned on that I had to finish myself off. I couldn’t help it.”

“Did you use your hands, or something else?”

It took her a moment to realize what he was asking. She knew some witches at Hogwarts had had toys to play with, or used a vibrating charm on their wand. Hermione had never used any of that, mostly because she was embarrassed at the prospect of getting caught. She always just used her hands and tried to keep quiet.

“Just my hands.”

“Show me.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“You heard me. Show me how you touched yourself.” She kept blinking at him. “I want to be able to picture it, you rubbing yourself off thinking about me.”

“You want to watch me touch myself?” The thought made her blush, but also made her stomach flutter in excitement.

“Yes. I’ve never seen you do it before.”

That was true. They’d never done this sort of thing, mostly because they were too busy focusing on each other’s pleasure. But this was different, somehow even more intimate than sex. This was something she would only ever show to someone she trusted implicitly, which perhaps was the point of Ron wanting it.

“Go on,” he coaxed, his voice dark and hypnotic. “Show me how you pleasure yourself.” She felt his erection digging into her hip, and her insides clenched again. He wanted this, badly. There was a faintest edge of need to his words that made her dizzy, and one of her hands reached up of its own accord, brushing against the pebbled nipple of her left breast. She let out a soft sigh.

“Yes,” he breathed. “Keep going.”

Her left hand continued to play with her nipple, stroking it lightly, sending little jolts of electric pleasure through her. She bit her lip, deciding it was better not to think and to just feel. This was what Ron wanted, and she wanted to give it to him. She let her right hand slide down her stomach to her sex, and stroked across it lightly with the backs of her fingers. She felt Ron twitch next to her, as if itching to touch her, but he didn’t make a move. His large presence was there, his hard cock still lingering against her thigh, but he kept his hands to himself as she started to rub herself in slow circles, her clit already throbbing, her hips already bucking with need.

“Oh, Gods,” Ron said in a tone so aroused that it made Hermione rub herself with more pressure and cry out. Her eyes were shut, reveling in the pleasure that was building inside her, but she felt movement next to her, and knew that Ron was reaching a hand down to his cock.

He was _stroking_ himself, watching her. She could feel it, hear it, and it made her clit sing with need. She pinched her nipple and whimpered, rubbing herself faster. But she wanted more; she wanted to _see_ his arousal, his desperate need for her. So she opened her eyes and met his, taking in his dilated pupils, his glistening, parted lips, his desperate panting.

“I thought about this too, you know,” she said, her voice barely a hoarse whisper. “When I was touching myself. I imagined that you made me come with your mouth, and then I got to watch while you got yourself off. Licking me turned you on so much that you had to come too.”

He groaned. “Like this?” he asked. “Was it like this?” His hand was starting to work more furiously along his large, lubed-up cock, like her words had some kind of hold on him, spurring him on.

She shook her head. “You were kneeling,” she said. “You were above me kneeling so that I could watch you.”

He immediately followed her implied instructions, getting up on his knees so that he was looming above her, his hand never stopping. She looked at him through hooded eyes: the long, lean lines of his body, his taut stomach, the perfect V of his pelvis that drew the eyes right to where he was pleasuring himself, the muscles of his bicep rippling as he worked. It was even better than she had fantasized, those years ago. He really was even more fit now, more confident, a man rather than a boy.

A man, bringing himself off, just for her.

She rubbed herself faster as she watched him get lost in it, as he tweaked his nipples and played with his bollocks with his other hand, all the while watching her as she rubbed herself fast, then slow as her fingers dipped inside the soft wetness, then fast again. She mewled with the increasing need to come. She was so close. She needed just a little more.

“Do you know what happened next?” she gasped out, her eyes never leaving his.

“What? What happened next?” he croaked.

“You came,” she said. “You came _so much_ , just for me. You came all over me.”

He groaned. “Where? Where all over you?”

“All over my stomach, and my neck, and my tits. You covered me with your cum. You made me yours.”

“ _Fuck.”_

He was close now too, she could tell, and that was exactly what she was hoping for.

“Come on me, Ron. Come all over me. Please.”

“Oh, fuck. Oh, _fuck_ …”

“That’s it,” she kept on, her own climax starting to peak. “I need your cum. I need it all over me. I want you to paint me with it. I want you to claim me.”

“Hermione…” He ground out, and then he stilled, all except for his hand, which was still working along his cock as jet after jet of cum splattered onto Hermione’s body, dashing across her stomach and breasts. One stream went straight along her nipple and she moaned as her orgasm reached its crescendo, her insides pulsing, her whole body trembling with the force of it.

She was still enjoying the aftershocks when Ron flopped down next to her with a groan.

“That was quite a show, Ms. Granger,” he said, grinning.

“Mmm, I could say the same to you, Mr. Weasley,” she murmured, closing her eyes.

“Shall I clean you up?”

“Mmm?” She blinked at him.

“Not that I don’t love the image of you covered in my cum, but I thought you might not want to let it cool and end up all sticky for your party.”

She snickered a little at the thought. “I suppose that would be inappropriate, wouldn’t it? Especially with children present.”

“You would leave it on otherwise?” He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“I told you, I like having your cum on me. It makes me feel… “ She didn’t know how to describe it. Perhaps, to someone else, it would feel degrading. But it didn’t, not to her. It was just the opposite. It made her feel powerful. “It just turns me on, that’s all.”

Ron groaned again and gave her a sensual kiss. “You are one sexy witch, you know that?”

She smiled, enjoying the praise. This was one of the wonderful things about being with Ron. He had no judgments about what she should like or what should get her going. It hadn’t bothered him that she had watched porn before and liked it, even the fact that some of that porn had been only of men, fucking each other. It hadn’t bothered him that she liked to play around with his arse a little when she was going down on him, though she knew he had been cautious at first. But he had been open to exploring, and had even learned to enjoy it. No, they weren’t the _most_ sexually adventurous couple on the planet, but they weren’t stuck in missionary position either. They were open, embracing the diverse world of sexual gratification without feeling the need to constantly try something new. It was the perfect middle ground for her, exactly where she wanted to live. With him.

Ron grabbed his wand and held it up, asking a silent question with his eyes. She nodded, and he waved it over her, muttering the cleansing charm that made the cum vanish from her skin.

“I bet I still smell like sex anyway,” she said, as though this would at least make up for it a little.

Ron embraced her, burying his face in her neck and taking a big sniff, which made her giggle.

“You smell perfect,” he said.

They remained that way for a while, their naked bodies intertwined. Hermione let herself drift, not into sleep, really, but into a place of calm and contentment, a place where everything was all right, even the things that weren’t really all right at all.

That was another wonderful thing about being with Ron. Even when things were hard, whether at work, or with her parents, or just _inside_ her, that self-doubt that niggled and creeped, she had this to come home to. She had this big, warm, human cocoon to wrap herself up in.

Eventually, though she had no idea how much time had really passed, she opened her eyes again and stared at the clock. It was nearly two.

“I suppose I should have a shower after all,” she said softly. While the idea of continuing to smell like cum all day had a certain secret kinkiness to it, she knew it would be bad form to be any less than fresh and clean when she greeted her party guests.

“Mm, all right,” Ron said, sounding a bit drowsy.

“Care to join me?” she asked him with a sweet smile, which he readily returned. “We can get dirty again, and _then_ get clean afterward.”

He chuckled. “Round two?”

“Only if you’re _up_ for it,” she said, running a teasing hand over his limp cock, which twitched with interest under her fingers.

“Oh, love,” he said with a wicked grin. “I’m always up for you.” His cock was already starting to stiffen, as if to prove his point. It made Hermione’s insides start to throb again.

 _Sod the shower_ , she thought. _At least for now._ She knew how she wanted it, and turned over onto her stomach to demonstrate, arching so her arse stuck up a little in the air.

“Come over here and show me,” she said.

Still grinning, and with a carnal glint in his eye, Ron did as he was told, moving across the bed and covering her body with his own.

She sighed with delight as his lips worked on her neck and down her spine and his erection played along her arse, teasing her entrance, which was still wet from her first orgasm. She loved it from behind. There was nothing that made her feel more wanton than this.

She ground against him, impatient, but he only chuckled some more and continued to tease her. She moaned as one of his thumbs pressed into her and his fingers played lightly with her clit.

“Mm, you really are ready, aren’t you, love?” he asked.

She looked over her shoulder at him, giving him a dark look that hopefully conveyed her deep need for him.

“Yes. Fuck me. Now.”

_Make me forget. Make me forget everything except you._

Ron seemed all too happy to oblige.

***

Hermione was quite thankful for her afternoon romp with Ron. She felt much more relaxed and ready to face her party after the thorough shagging Ron gave her and the hot shower with him afterwards.

 _Thank Merlin for sex_ , she thought with a secret smile as she looked about her bustling kitchen.

The party wasn’t even starting for another hour, but the place already felt full. Of course, this came with the territory if you spent a lot of time with the Weasleys. Though it was only Molly and Fleur who had been due to arrive at three, they had brought others in tow. Fleur had brought Bill, Victoire, and Dominique, and Molly had brought Arthur as well as Charlie, who was staying at the Burrow while he was visiting from Romania and thought he’d go ahead and come along.

Victoire was running around the sitting room, squealing with delight while her uncle Ron chased her, arms outstretched, growling, “I’m gonna getcha!” All the while little Dominique screeched and tried to catch up, though crawling was currently her only mode of self-transport and she wasn’t making much headway.

While Ron kept his nieces occupied the other men had been tasked with setting up the tables and chairs around the main floor of the house, so guests would have places to sit. That left the women, Hermione included, to manage setting up the food.

Although she loved Molly and got along fine with Fleur, she was still not particularly in the mood to chat them up. She remained generally quiet as she helped them, listening to their usual bickering, which was no longer so derisive as it had been in the early days, but rather, at this point, just begrudgingly loving. The two women had come a long way, and Hermione thought it was probably the birth of Victoire that had finally bonded them.

However busy they all were setting up the vast array of finger food and the overwhelming selection of drinks, Hermione still wasn’t able to entirely avoid the topic of her parents.

“So sorry to hear that they’re ill, dear,” Molly said gently. “What a shame. It’s not every day our girl turns twenty-four, now is it?”

“It’s all right, really. There will be lots of people here anyway. I imagine it would be a bit overwhelming for them.” This had been true in the past. Though her parents had come to terms with Hermione living primarily in the magical world, they weren’t always keen on venturing out into it. She understood that. She imagined it would be very alienating.

“Well, I do hope they get better soon.”

“Me too.” _More than you know._

“I’ve missed the meetings with your mother to plan the wedding. We should start that back up again when she’s well.”

“Right,” said Hermione, feeling a stab of remorse. Her mother was not going to be helping with wedding preparations anytime soon, a thought that was too painful to truly dwell on.

She was distracted moments later, thankfully, by the sight of a massive, tiered chocolate cake decorated with pink piping and sugared roses, which Fleur had just carefully removed from a box and set to perch like a behemoth on a glass platter.

“Sweet Merlin, look at that thing,” Hermione said. She turned to Molly. “Did you bake that?”

“It was a joint effort,” Molly said. “Do you like it?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Hermione replied.

“Bit small though,” said Ron, coming up behind Hermione to drape his arms around her shoulders. “What’s everyone else having?”

Hermione turned her head and gave him an amused look. “Sorry, love, but not even you could eat that whole thing yourself.”

“I bet I could, if I really put my mind to it.”

“I bet you couldn’t. You’d get halfway through and burst like a balloon. That cake would literally kill you.”

“What a way to go, though,” Ron said with a grin, giving the back of her head a kiss. “You about done in here? Victoire wants to play.”

Hermione glanced at Molly.

“You go on, dear. We’ve got it handled.”

Hermione was glad to go off with Ron and find her soon-to-be-niece, who wanted to play one of the hand-clapping games that Hermione had taught her. Before she knew it, it a quarter past five and the first of the guests had started arriving.

She kissed a pouty Victoire on her white blonde head and promised her they’d play more later, then went to greet Harry, Draco, and Teddy, who were all smiling warmly at her and carrying various packages.

“I told you all no gifts,” she said by way of greeting as Harry bent to give her a kiss.

“Don’t be ridiculous, ‘Mione. This is me you’re talking to,” Harry argued good-naturedly, handing her a whole stack of packages wrapped in silver paper. “That lot’s from me, Draco, Teddy, _and_ Andromeda, so don’t go feeling all guilty about it.”

“And,” said Draco with a flourish, pulling a couple of bottles out of his jacket pocket. “Of course, libations. This one’s for you.” He held up the bottle of Burgundy for Hermione’s perusal. “It’s really lovely. One of my favorites. And for you.” He handed Ron a bottle of Ogden’s.

“Cheers, mate,” Ron said happily. “That’s quite decent of you. You all come on in, get comfortable. Teddy.” He looked down at the five-year-old warmly. “Victoire’s just in the sitting room if you want to say hello. I bet you anything she wants to play with you.”

Teddy didn’t need telling twice, it seemed. He quickly removed his little jacket and handed it off to Harry unceremoniously before following Ron further into the house. Harry chuckled.

“Can I get you two a drink?” Hermione offered.

They agreed cheerfully and came with her to the kitchen.

“Andromeda sends her love, by the way,” Draco told her as she poured him a glass of red wine. “She really wanted to be here but she’s just not up for it.”

“I totally understand,” Hermione said. “I know these first few months are rough. When does she go in for the next round of treatment?”

“First week in October,” said Harry, taking a sip of his beer. “She’s really not looking forward to it. Apparently the charms make you want to sleep for about a week, and then the potions make you so sick that you hardly get much sleep at all.”

Hermione shook her head. “That’s just awful.”

“It will get better,” Draco said in a reassuring tone. “In a couple of months she’ll feel like it’s worth it. Just right now she’s not in particularly high spirits.”

“Poor thing,” Molly said, overhearing their conversation and joining in. “I bet she misses Teddy as well.”

“And Teddy’s missing her,” Harry added. “We might try to schedule a visit next month, once the effects of the treatment have died down a little. But we just sort of have to see how it goes.”

“Not to bring down the mood,” Draco said, giving Hermione a smile and a wink. “It’s your birthday, after all. Let’s hear about how things have been going for you.”

Hermione enjoyed a pleasant chat with her two friends for a few minutes, but had to soon leave them to the food so she could greet the other guests that were arriving. This included George and Angelina, who were newly engaged and looking quite happy about it, Penelope Clearwater, who gave her a warm birthday hug, and Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking kind and ministerial as usual.

“When are you going to finally come work for us at the Ministry?” Kingsley said after she asked after his work and the upcoming election. “I could really use you on my team.”

Hermione smiled demurely. “I’m not sure it’s really my calling. I quite like the DTF. There’s a lot of freedom to do the kind of work I want.”

“You’d get freedom in my office, too, you know. Get the issues you care about front and center.”

“Oh, please, don’t tempt me. I haven’t even been at my new job a year. I’m still working on getting settled in.” In truth, she actually found Kingsley’s persistence quite pleasing, though she would never admit it aloud.

Kingsley shrugged elegantly. “I just always thought you’d do quite well as Minister yourself one day is all,” he said, a twinkle in his eye. “I can’t do this job forever. I need to know that the people next in line will do the job properly.”

“You are a shameless flatterer,” she said, giving him a light smack on the arm.

“And yet I mean every word,” he replied with a smile.

More guests started pouring in, and Hermione had a hard time keeping track of them all. She did at least have a chance to say hello to Percy and a very pregnant Audrey when they came through the door, as well as to Blaise, Pansy, and Theo, who all arrived together. They’d even brought Esmerelda with them, who was pretty as a picture in her blue dress, with dark hair and a solemn little expression, much like her mother, though she had her father’s bronze-hazel eyes.

“We’ve got the children set up in the sitting room,” she told Pansy. “There’s lots of games and toys for her to play with, and Fleur Weasley’s there to watch them.”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Esme?” said Theo, taking the girl from his wife’s arms. “I’ll take her over, then I’ll track down your man, eh?”

“Good luck with that,” said Hermione, realizing she hadn’t seen Ron in a while. She was too busy talking to everyone else. “There’s a good chance he’s snuck off with Harry, Dean, and a bottle of firewhiskey.”

“Excellent,” Theo grinned. “I think I might join them.”

“Do remember we have to Apparate home, would you?” Pansy called after him, then seemed to give it up as a bad job.

Hermione laughed. “Losing battle?”

Pansy sighed. “Yes, it really is.”

The two women chatted for a bit, Blaise occasionally chiming in, until Hermione spotted Hannah coming through the door, followed not far behind by Vesper and a Gryffindor that Hermione knew by sight but not by name.

She gave Hannah a hug and accepted a bottle of wine from her, as well as apologies from Neville for not being able to make it.

“His classes are keeping him really busy. I think he’s a bit overwhelmed, to be honest,” Hannah told her conspiratorially. “I don’t think he quite knows what he’s gotten himself into.”

Hermione nodded, almost saying that she was sure Neville would figure it out. He was bright, after all, not to mention determined. But there was an edge to the way Hannah talked that she found odd, and it stopped her. She almost wanted to ask about it, but Vesper was getting her attention and she turned away from Hannah with a smile to greet her.

“So glad you could make it,” she said.

“Me too. Happy birthday!” Vesper was looking stylish and striking as usual, thought her ensemble was a simple one.

“Thanks!”

“And I think you probably know Declan,” Vesper said, pointing to the man standing next to her. “At least in passing. He was in your house at Hogwarts. He’s training with me at the Academy now.”

“Nice to see you again,” said Declan, shaking her hand. “I’m guessing you don’t remember me. I was class of 1995.”

“I recognized you as soon as I saw you,” she assured him. “I just couldn’t quite place the name.”

“Well, anyway, happy birthday.” Hermione saw that he was also holding a bottle of wine. “I would give you this, but it seems you’ve already got one,” he said, chuckling as he looked down at the bottle that Hannah had handed her only minutes ago.

“Yeah, people keep handing them to me. I guess everyone’s trying to get me drunk,” said Hermione.

“As far as I’m concerned, a party can never have too much wine,” Vesper said.

“Here, here,” replied Declan, smiling down at Vesper in a way that was hard to mistake.

 _This is interesting_ , she thought, but knew better than to say anything to Vesper with Declan standing right there.

“Speaking of wine, how about some drinks?” she offered.

“Great.”

They wound their way to the kitchen, where there were already many congregating around the food and the booze. Luckily Hermione was able to find a spot and two clean glasses for her guests.

Declan immediately spotted George and excused himself to say hello, telling Vesper to just get him a beer. Vesper watched him go, looking thoughtful more than anything.

“So, is this a new thing, you and him?” she asked Vesper as she poured two glasses of beer.

Vesper gave her a look, though it was obvious she was fighting a smile. “I wouldn’t call it a ‘thing,’ yet. It’s… a friendship.”

“Hmmm,” Hermione said skeptically, reaching for a bottle of white wine to refill her own glass.

“What?”

“It just seems like a thing.”

“Hmph.”

“I saw the way he was looking at you,” Hermione said, grinning.

Vesper eyed her. “Yeah. I’ve seen it too.”

Yes, she likely would have. Vesper was quite observant, particularly of people and their behavior.

“So you have to know that by inviting him here, you’re sending a certain message.”

The American sighed. “I know. And it’s not necessarily a bad thing. I just… I’m taking it slow. I’m being cautious, on Harry’s suggestion.”

“Harry was giving you relationship advice?”

Vesper laughed at Hermione’s incredulous tone. “Yeah, last night. I had dinner at Grimmauld and we talked about it a little. And it was very good advice, actually. I don’t know why you’re so surprised.”

Hermione considered that.

“Harry is in one of the healthiest and most enviable relationships I have ever seen,” Vesper went on. “He’d obviously doing something right.”

Hermione had to admit that she had a point. It was just hard to completely get past her conception of the adolescent Harry: troubled, impatient, and fairly emotionally clueless. Not that he hadn’t been wonderful as well, in so many different ways. But he’d had a lot of growing to do.

But he’d done it. He was even raising a child now, and doing quite a good job of it. She had to remind herself of that every now and then.

“Fair point,” she conceded to Vesper, who laughed again.

“You and Ron are a close second, of course,” she said with a smile. “I think what you two have is really amazing.”

Hermione blushed. “Me too.”

“He totally adores you. He talks about you constantly. I’d smack him to shut him up, but he’s my boss now, you know. So I have to listen to him go on and on about how wonderful you are and how he can’t wait to be married to you.”

“I think you’re exaggerating,” Hermione accused.

“Maybe, but only a little.”

Hermione worried her lip, a thought having struck her suddenly. "Sometimes I worry I don't do enough of that myself."

Vesper’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Talking about Ron, how much I love him. Demonstrating it to others, or in public." She sighed. "Sometimes I think there’s so much going on for me on the inside that I forget to show it on the outside.”

Vesper thought about that. “Well put,” she said. “Though I don’t think you’re… you know, closed off or anything. Not at all. And of course I can tell you care about Ron. You don’t… you’re not as gregarious as he is, so it comes out a little different. But it’s there.”

“Hm.”

“I think it can be a good thing, though. It’s nice to have… it’s kind of nice when there’s a barrier, when there are things between just the two of you that other people don’t get to see, you know?” She took a sip of her beer. “It was like that with Blaise. He’s not the most demonstrative person, as you well know. He’s honest, yeah, and he’ll tell you what he’s thinking but he… doesn’t show his emotions, most of the time. But in private, behind closed doors…” She trailed off.

“Yeah, I know what you mean.” She and Blaise had always been similar in many ways, but she hadn't considered that they could be similar in this way as well. Did she hide her affection for Ron in public? She knew sometimes she had a tendency to nag him, or simply let him go off and enjoy himself with others as he was doing now. It wasn’t until they were alone that she really reached out to him, made him the center of her world. He was much better at that with other people around. Should she be better at it, more like him, or was it good that they were different?

“I really wouldn’t worry about it,” Vesper told her, accurately reading her expression. “You guys have a good thing, and why mess with a good thing?”

“True enough.” She leaned in closer. “Speaking of Blaise, I should warn you that he’s here already.”

“I know,” she replied softly. “I saw him. It’s fine. We’re on good terms.”

“That’s nice to hear.”

“Yeah.” Something flashed across Vesper’s face for a moment, but was gone almost instantly. She grinned suddenly. “So, no major emotional scenes at your party, I promise. No fist-fights or dramatic declarations.”

“I wasn’t worried. I just didn’t want it to be… you know… weird. For you.”

“I appreciate that, but, like I said, it’s all good. We’re good. No bad blood or anything.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

Conversation moved onto other things as Hermione asked Vesper about Auror training and how Ron was doing as a teacher. She was quite happy to hear that Vesper thought Ron an excellent instructor, and Declan was able to second that when he returned to Vesper’s side to join in the conversation. Eventually the two of them went off to get some food together, and Hermione couldn’t help noticing the way Declan put a hand on the small of Vesper’s back to guide her.

He definitely had more than friendship on his mind, if she was reading the signs correctly. She couldn’t help but wonder what Blaise would think about that.

But that was a question for another time. Wine glass in hand, she decided to make the rounds of her guests, making sure everyone was enjoying themselves. She chatted with Angelina and Hannah for a bit, then went to check on how Fleur was faring with the children. Audrey was there as well, the two women discussing the pregnancy and the way that Audrey and Percy had decided to set up the nursery.

It was fun to hear about, but it made her realize how completely _not_ ready she was for children. There was way too much else to do first.

She ran into Harry on her way out of the sitting room.

“Hey,” she greeted him. “All alone? I figured you’d be with Ron.”

He shook his head. “Kingsley.”

“Ah, talking your ear off about you leaving the DTF to work at the Ministry?”

“How’d you know?” he said with a wry smile. They were both quite used to Kingsley’s recruitment tactics. “I’ve just got away, and I thought I’d come by and check on Teddy, see how he’s getting on.”

“He’s great, I think.” She looked over her shoulder to see Teddy and Victoire sitting on the floor together, drawing in crayon on the same large piece of paper. “He’s with Victoire, so he’s happy.”

Harry grinned, warmth entering his eyes. “Yeah, it’s quite sweet, isn’t it? He’s very protective of her.”

Hermione wanted to say that what was really sweet was how much Harry obviously liked being a dad, but she didn’t. She knew it would just embarrass him.

“And your other half?” she asked instead. “Where’s he got to?”

“No idea. Where’s yours?”

“No idea.”

Harry laughed. “Perhaps we should find them. Maybe they’ve run away together. Maybe they’re having a frantic shag in the bathroom.”

She smacked him on the arm. “Very funny, Harry.”

“Honestly, though, can you imagine? I think I’d be so shocked and amazed that I might not even be upset.”

She gave him a knowing look. “You wouldn’t be upset if your best friend was shagging the love of your life behind your back?”

He considered it. “I supposed I’d be a little peeved, you know, once I’d stopped laughing hysterically.”

She shook her head in disbelief. “You’re full of it. You absolutely are.”

“Yes, I know,” he said, grinning. “So, shall we track them down and see if I’m right?”

She rolled her eyes but agreed, following Harry back into the dining room towards the kitchen.

Strangely enough, Harry and Hermione _did_ find their respective lovers together. Not shagging, of course, but talking on the back patio with Pansy, Hannah, Theo, and Blaise. They appeared to be discussing, of all things, primary education.

“I don’t think I know a single pureblood of our generation who wasn’t tutored at home,” Draco was saying as Hermione and Harry entered the patio. “My parents never considered for a moment sending me to primary school.” Draco spotted them and paused as Harry leant down to give him a kiss. Hermione went and found a seat next to Ron, and he put a hand on her knee and squeezed.

“You think more are going now?” Blaise asked. “Is that why wizarding primary schools are popping up everywhere?”

“Someone’s attending them,” said Draco. “There must be at least a few purebloods in the mix.”

“I don’t know, there are a lot of half-bloods nowadays,” said Hannah. “They may be the ones filling the schools. And in the next few years it’s only going to get more common. Everybody’s having children now the war’s well over.”

“How did we get on this topic, exactly?” Harry asked.

“I was just telling them about Teddy’s nursery school,” Draco explained to him. “I just find it so surprising that there was enough of a demand for an all-magic one, and all-magic primary schools, too. It just wasn’t really done when we were children.”

“Politics have changed,” said Hermione. “And I definitely think the population boom has had something to do with it.” She nodded at Hannah.

“Do you think you’ll send Esme to nursery?” Blaise asked Pansy and Theo.

“I don’t see why we would, when I don’t work,” Pansy said. “I quite like having her at home. Primary school’s a different question. I don’t really fancy the idea of teaching her Maths and reading and all that. I’d rather leave it up to a professional.”

“You could hire a governess,” Draco said.

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “That’s a bit excessive isn’t it, not to mention a little gauche in this day and age.”

“Is that how it used to be?” asked Hermione, finding it hard to imagine. “Pureblood children would have a governess?”

“We all had one,” said Draco, pointing to himself and the rest of the Slytherins around the circle.

“The _same_ one,” added Blaise. “Madame DuBois, do you remember?”

“Frightening woman,” Pansy chimed in. “Had Draco stay behind at lunch to do lines at least once a week, isn’t that right?”

“I think that’s your beloved husband you’re thinking of actually,” Draco said haughtily.

“It was both of you,” said Blaise. “Always causing trouble.”

“The difference is, Draco got smart and learned how to get away with it by the time he reached Hogwarts,” said Theo with a grin. “Whereas I never did.”

“He didn’t always get away with it,” Harry added. “I saw him land detention more than once.”

“It was usually _your_ doing, in fact,” Draco said, giving his boyfriend a mock glare.

“Nonsense. I didn’t _make_ you break the rules, I just made sure you got caught.” Harry tossed Draco a wink.

“Yes, since you caused absolutely no trouble at all. A perfect wee angel, you were.”

“To be fair, I got caught plenty of times as well.”

“All too right, mate,” said Ron. "I bet if we added up the number of detentions we’ve all served, Harry would have more than the rest of us combined.”

“Probably true. There were all the ones with Umbridge,” said Hermione.

“And with Snape my sixth year.” Harry suddenly cast a sidelong glance at Draco, and Hermione remembered which detentions he was referring to. They had served as punishment for using that awful _sectumsempra_ spell. She wondered, for a moment, how Harry and Draco had resolved that little piece of their shared history. She’d never thought to ask before. In truth, she had forgotten about it.

“Let’s not forget all that stuff you _did_ get away with, though,” said Hannah. “I honestly don’t know when you had time for your schoolwork with all that sneaking around.”

That led, inevitably, to some recounting of adventures, which Harry and Ron always liked to do and which their audience usually found entertaining. Hermione occasionally added details but otherwise let them regale Hannah and the Slytherins with tales of their daring rescue of Ginny from the Chamber of Secrets, the night of revelations in the Shrieking Shack third year, and all those times in the Forbidden Forest with centaurs, acromantula, a baby giant, and many others.

“That all sounds exhausting,” said Pansy. “Thank Merlin I was never a Gryffindor. You all are complete nutters.”

“I think it sounds quite fun,” said Theo. “Except for the nearly dying bit. I would have done without that, in each case.”

“Oh, but the nearly dying bit’s half the fun,” said Harry with a grin. “It’s what gets the adrenaline going, you know.” He looked at Draco, who was pursing his lips in what seemed to be distaste, although Hermione suspected it was more than that. Harry gave Draco’s knee a rub. “Don’t worry, I got it all out of my system early. I like a nice, quiet life now, unlike Ron.”

“I don’t _mind_ the quiet life,” said Ron. “I just don’t want it all the time. Besides, things are a bit quiet nowadays, since I’m not allowed into the field for another three months.”

That led Hannah to ask after Ron’s trainees, and he talked about his classes for a bit, as well as how Vesper was doing.

“She’s about top of the class,” he said. “Or at least a close second. Good on classroom, killer on dueling, of course. And Ross… Declan Ross, the bloke she came with today, he’s quite decent as well. I have no doubt they’ll both be making Senior Auror if they stick with it.”

Hermione glanced at Blaise to see him taking it all in stoically. He caught her eye for a moment and raised his eyebrows, and she gave him a small smile. Blaise, as usual, was impossible to read on the subject of his ex-girlfriend, but it had been worth a try.

Eventually the group dispersed, Pansy and Theo to go check on Esmerelda, Harry and Draco to get some more food and drink, and Blaise and Hannah to go mingle with some other guests. Hermione stood, too, thinking she’d get another glass of wine, but Ron took her hand.

“Having fun, love?”

“Yeah, I am,” she said, and was glad she could be honest. “This was really wonderful. Thank you.”

“It’s not over yet, you know. We still have that whole chocolate cake to demolish.”

“Oh, goodness. I forgot about that. I’d better get some real food in my system so I don’t go into sugar shock.”

“You haven’t eaten yet?”

Hermione squirmed. “Erm, no, not much.”

“’Mione…”

“I’ve been distracted. There are so many people to talk to!”

“Still…”

“Are you really going to nag me about eating on my birthday?” she asked with a little pout.

He sighed. “No, of course not. If you want to gorge yourself on wine and cake and nothing else, have at it. It’s your day.”

She smiled and kissed him. “I’ll eat a little supper, I promise.”

“Good,” he kissed her back. “And don’t pout like that again, at least not while there are other people around. It’s far too sexy. It makes me what to take you right here on the patio furniture.”

Hermione felt desire flare up in her again, even though she knew Ron was mostly joking. Her libido really seemed to be in overdrive lately. “We’ll save that for later, shall we?” she said coyly, then gave him another kiss before heading back inside.

She did exactly as she promised, grabbing some food from the kitchen and sitting down with some friends from work who had so far been neglected. Ginny and her boyfriend, who played Keeper for the Harpies, joined her as well. The evening passed enjoyably, and it seemed most people were quite happy and having a good time. Vesper’s distinctive belly laugh could be heard quite often at the far end of the dining room, where she was now partaking in some of the whiskey that Draco had brought and chatting animatedly with Ron and Declan.

She couldn’t help but notice, though, that in the sea of happy faces there was one rather unhappy one, or as unhappy as he was willing to look in public, at least. Blaise. He was watching Vesper with an expression that might have passed for stoic if Hermione didn’t know him so well. But his mouth was turned down a little at the corners, and his eyes were tighter than usual. She excused herself from her table and made her way over to him.

“Are you all right?” she asked him.

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Did you get enough to eat?”

“Yes, it was delicious.”

“Do you need more to drink?”

“I have plenty of wine here.” He held up his glass. “So you can stop hovering.” He said it somewhat good-naturedly, although Hermione could also tell that he meant it.

“You just seem to not be having a very good time.”

“I’m having a lovely time. I’m just taking a break from the crowds, that’s all.”

Hermione sighed and watched him closely. He stared back at her pointedly, even when he brought his wine glass to his lips again.

“Vesper said the two of you were on good terms,” she said finally, deciding to take a chance.

“She did, did she?”

Hermione tilted her head, trying to read him. “I just wondered if you thought the same.”

“Sure. Why not?”

“You seem upset.”

Blaise huffed. “Hermione…”

“I don’t want to pry, Blaise. Or I should say… well you know part of me can’t help it.” She gave him a knowing smile, which he returned. “But it’s not that I want gossip or anything. But you’re my friend. If you’re upset, I want to help you.”

“You can’t help me, ‘Mione,” he said, not unkindly. “This is well beyond anything you can do something about.”

“Maybe that’s true. But you know that if there’s anything you wanted to talk about, I’ll always listen.”

His expression softened. “Yes, I know that.”

“Good.” She waited, wondering if he would give in and confide or simply put the wall back up again.

He sighed, finally, seeming to accept the inevitable. “It’s just that… I thought things were one way, but it’s starting to seem that they are, in fact, another.”

“In what sense?”

“Vesper and I… it’s not as simple as that we’ve split. It’s not… I can’t… look, a lot of it is private, all right?”

“I get that.”

“But I did end things. I mean… I did. But it wasn’t… it was supposed to be a wake up call, or maybe a way to get space from each other. I never stopped loving her. I’ll always love her. It was just… somehow it had all gone to shit and I couldn’t figure out why. But she took it like… she heard me suggest that we should take a break and she just ran with it, like she couldn’t wait to get away from me. But then… then we started reconnecting, and I thought… maybe we were getting somewhere. And now apparently she’s seeing this bloody Ross… person, who’s essentially the opposite of me, and I don’t know what to think.”

“She’s not seeing him, you know, not really.” Hermione said. “She told me they're just friends, and that she doesn’t want to rush into anything. She wants to take it really slow.”

He sighed again. “That’s worse, somehow. It means she cares about him. He’s not just a fling.”

“I don’t know what to tell you then, except to ask if you’ve really been honest with her about how you feel. Does she _know_ that you still love her?”

“She must. There’s no way… she has to.”

“Have you told her?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s complicated.”

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “In my experience, that’s just something people say when they don’t feel like doing something they know they have to do.”

Blaise actually laughed at that, though it was very quiet. “Normally I would agree with you, but in this case…” He swirled the wine around in his glass, staring down into it. “There’s a wall up. There’s a barrier I can’t cross with her. I’ve tried, but… she lets me get close, but if I get _too_ close she pushes me away again. Like there’s something inside her she doesn’t want me to see, as odd as that sounds. Or like she’s afraid of truly being close to me again.”

“Maybe because she thinks you’ll leave her again,” Hermione suggested. “If she knew how you felt… if she knew you _wouldn’t_ leave her again-“

“How can I make that promise, though, when she won’t even give me an inch? I can’t say I’ll never leave her again, because if _she_ doesn’t also do the work that needs to be done on our relationship, then what's the point? That's not really a relationship at all.”

Hermione nodded, knowing he was right. “Well…” she began, trying to generate another solution on the spot.

“It’s all right, Hermione,” he said softly. “It’s like I said, you can’t help me. Not with this.”

She bowed her head. No, it seemed this wasn't something she could do anything about. “For what it’s worth, though, I think you should tell her the truth anyway. She might not react well, and it may not turn out how you’d like, but at least you will have been honest. At least you will have tried.”

He smirked. “That’s the Gryffindor method, isn’t it? Dive right in, consequences be damned?” He shook his head. “I tried that once. Didn’t work out so well for me.”

The two exchanged wry smiles, remembering the drama from eighth year and the strain it put on their friendship for months afterward. It had taken a lot of time, energy, communication, and forgiveness from Ron to rebuild it all. Still, she saw this situation as a very different one.

She opened her mouth to tell Blaise so but was distracted by a hand on her shoulder. She turned to see that Ron had come up beside her.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he said. “But I’m getting the sense that guests are ready for cake. What do you think?”

“Is it the guests who are ready for cake, or just you?” she teased with a grin.

“Just me of course,” Ron said without missing a beat. “But I thought if I projected my own desires onto our guests, you’d be more likely to go for it.”

She laughed. “All right, let’s have cake, then, if it will make you happy.”

“It will. I’ll go let Mum and Fleur know.” He gave her a peck on the lips and went back to the kitchen.

Hermone turned back to Blaise, to find he was giving her a small smile.

“So, you’re really going to marry him, then?”

She rolled her eyes. “Yes, I’m really going to marry him.”

“Then he’s a lucky bastard. I hope he knows that.”

Hermione felt her cheeks pink. “He does. And, believe it or not, I consider myself quite lucky as well,” she added pointedly.

Blaise stared at her a few moments before nodding his head once. “Yes, I do believe it actually. He’s a good man, loathe as I am to admit it.”

Hermione chuckled, knowing that was about as nice as Blaise would probably ever be about Ron. But it was better than what he used to think, anyway.

“Come on,” she said. “Let’s have some cake.”

Word seemed to have spread, because most of the crowd had begun to gather in the dining room, waiting with glasses in hand. When Ron spotted Hermione coming he waved her over, then took her hand to pull her up to the front of the room.

“Can I have everyone’s attention, please?” he called, and the room fell silent, turning to look at him. “First off, I want to thank all of you for coming today. It really means a lot to me and Hermione both to have you all here, in our new house, and it especially means a lot to me that you’ve come here to celebrate this amazing woman next to me.” Hermione blushed as a few people cheered and wolf-whistled. “Now, you know I could go on and on about her, but I won’t because there’s about to be cake and I recognize that cake is a lot more interesting and tasty than I am.”

“Not true!” shouted George from the crowd. “You’re as tasty as they come Ronnikins!”

Ron raised his glass to that as people chuckled, but went on, his expression sobering. “But in all seriousness, since we’re all gathered together I would be remiss if I didn’t at least say a few words about my beloved fiancée. Because there is not another witch in the world who is as brilliant, brave, or beautiful as she is. She’s saved my sorry neck more times than I can possibly count, as Harry will readily tell you as well.”

“All too right, mate!” Harry called.

“In fact, there is likely not a person in this room who would be standing here today if it weren’t for her. Because she laughs in the face of opposition, stands up for those who cannot stand up for themselves, and never backs down from any challenge. She saved us all.” Ron turned to look at her, beaming, and she stared into those blue eyes, feeling tears start to well up in her own. “To know her is to love her, and I am very, very lucky to know her, as are we all. So,” he turned back to the crowd, lifting up his glass of whiskey, “let’s raise a glass to Hermione and wish her a very happy birthday.”

“To Hermione!” everyone said, and dozens of glasses lifted into the air. Hermione felt a tear spill down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly.

Ron leaned down and gave her a kiss.

“I love you,” she whispered to him.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he replied softly.

She would have said something else, something to express some sliver of the gratitude she felt, but guests were coming up to her to give her hugs, kisses, and birthday wishes, and Ron stepped aside to give them room. She accepted it all with smiles and a few more tears, focusing on the people who were there and all the love she felt for them, rather than on the two faces that were distinctly missing, and all that their missing portended.


	12. Electric Bird

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm pretty sure I'll never get tired of writing Harry and Teddy father/son cuteness. Never in my life.
> 
> I hope everyone is able to stay happy, healthy, and sane during this crazy time. Writing has definitely been a solace for me, and I can't wait to do more of it. With any luck this fluffy (and smutty) installment will manage to entertain you for a little while! 
> 
> Sending out lots of love and long-distance hugs! <3

(Harry)

“Ivy Cartwright says boys aren’t supposed to marry other boys.”

Harry paused in his slicing of the steak and kidney pie he’d prepared for dinner and turned to look at Teddy, who was sitting at the kitchen table, watching him.

 _Ivy Cartwright sounds like a stupid cow,_ he wanted to reply, but didn’t. It was not very good parenting to encourage your children to call people names. So instead he asked, “Who’s Ivy Cartwright?”

“A girl in my class at school.”

“I see.” So, the person in question was all of five at the oldest. Probably best he hadn’t called her a stupid cow then. She was likely only parroting the viewpoints of her parents anyway.

“Why would she say that?”

“Well…” Harry began carefully. “There are some people who believe that. Usually older people, grown-ups, I mean. So someone probably told her that boys shouldn’t marry boys and she believed it was true.”

“But why? Why do people think that?”

Harry sighed. How did one explain such things to a child his age? Teddy understood already, of course, that some men loved women and some men loved other men. Having grown up around Harry and Draco, gay relationships were just as normal as heterosexual ones for Teddy. Harry had never before considered that he might one day have to explain that there were people who saw it differently, which he realized now was perhaps a bit naive. “Well, Teddy, to be honest, I don’t rightly know why some people think it. It's not something I really understand, you know, because I believe everyone should be able to be with who they love. But I suppose… I suppose that some people think it’s unnatural, that boys are only supposed to be with girls and girls are only supposed to be with boys.”

“Why?”

“Because, for a long time, only a girl and a boy could make a baby together. That’s not true anymore, of course.” Advances in fertility magic had seen to that. It was now possible to combine two egg cells or two sperm cells together to create an embryo, using a special potion. The process was only a few years old, but had been wildly successful since it became available, and had changed things dramatically for gay and lesbian couples in the wizarding world. Now they could have fully biological children all their own. Draco and Harry had already discussed it and decided it was likely the way to go once they decided to have children. Harry quite liked the image of a blond-haired boy with green eyes, some combination of the two of them. Though it was still more of a hassle in some ways. For lesbian parents, who only had X-chromosomes to contribute to a child, they could only have female biological children. And men still didn’t have a means of carrying or giving birth to a child, so they had to find a surrogate. For many couples, the results were well worth those hassles, while others chose to adopt instead. Harry himself saw merit in both options.

“The truth is,” he went on, shaking himself out of his reverie since Teddy was still staring at him expectantly, “that there are lots of ways for people to have children, whether they’re two women, two men, or a man and woman. Or a person having children on their own. There are lots of different ways to have a family.”

“So why do people think that boys can’t be together, if there are lots of ways to have a family?” Teddy asked.

Harry smiled ruefully. He was not going to get out of this conversation easily. Teddy would dig until he had an answer he could understand, so perhaps it was better to send him to the source. “For different reasons, I think,” he said. “Since I don’t agree with that belief, I don’t know myself. But you could ask Ivy at school tomorrow why she thinks that boys can’t marry boys and see what she says.”

Teddy thought about that. “Yeah. All right.”

Harry lifted a slice of pie each for him and Teddy onto plates, then added peas and carrots. He carried the plates over to the table, setting one in front of his godson. Teddy picked up his fork and took a small bite of pie. They ate in silence for a few minutes.

“ _I’m_ going to marry a boy,” Teddy said suddenly.

Harry paused, a forkful of peas halfway to his mouth. He set the fork down again, fighting a smile. “Is that so?”

“Yes. Girls are gross.”

Harry huffed a laugh, unable to help it. “Well, you might not feel that way forever, you know. One day, you might think girls are quite nice.”

“I don’t think so.”

“What about Victoire? She’s a girl, and you like her just fine.”

Teddy tilted his head, a sign that Harry had pointed something out to him that he’d never thought of before. “That’s true.”

“So maybe it depends on the girl. Maybe you don’t like Ivy Cartwright so much, and that’s all right. But I bet there are other girls in your class who are nice and fun to play with, just like Victoire.”

Teddy pursed his little lips. “Maybe.” He took another bite of pie. “I’m still going to marry a boy.” There was a slightly stubborn edge to his tone now.

“How do you know?”

“I’m going to marry Toby.”

Toby Goldstein was one of Teddy’s good friends at school.

“You are, are you?”

“Yes. I’ve already asked him, and he said yes.”

Harry clenched his teeth hard to keep himself from laughing again. He knew from experience that it didn’t feel very good to be laughed at when you were a child, and he could tell by Teddy’s expression that he was being perfectly serious.

“Well, congratulations,” Harry managed. “Many happy returns.”

“But Ivy says we’re not _supposed_ to,” Teddy said. “That it’s against the rules.”

“What rules?”

Teddy paused, thinking. Then he shrugged, looking confused.

“It’s not against the rules,” Harry told him. “The law says that two men or two women can get married, so it’s perfectly within the rules.”

“Oh.”

“However, the law does not let you get married when you’re five, so I’m afraid you may have to wait a bit on that.”

Teddy sighed. “There are so many things I can’t do because I’m five.”

“Yes, but someday you will be able to do them. And sometimes it’s nice to wait for things. Sometimes good things are even better because we waited for them.”

Teddy thought about that. “Like waiting until my birthday to get presents?”

Harry smiled. “Exactly.”

“But I want to marry Toby _now_.”

“Why? What’s the big rush?”

“Because when we’re married we can live in the same house and do everything together.”

Harry took a moment to absorb that. “You want to marry Toby so you can live with him?”

Teddy nodded vigorously. “When we get married he can come live in my room with me. And then I’ll be with him all the time.”

Harry took a moment to consider what he was going to say next. As bloody adorable as that idea was, he would, unfortunately, have to deflate Teddy’s expectations.

“What about Toby’s parents? Don’t you think they would be sad if he left them to go live with you?”

Teddy’s brow furrowed. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I can tell you that Draco and I would be very sad if you left us to live with Toby. We would miss you.”

“I don’t want to live somewhere else,” Teddy said quickly, sounding almost panicked. “That’s why Toby will come live with me.”

“All right, but have you ever thought that Toby might feel the same way? His parents are his family. The house he lives in is his home. He might not feel ready to leave them behind.”

Teddy thought about that for a long time, and Harry let him, not speaking except to remind him to eat his peas. Harry was just finishing his last bite of pie when Teddy spoke again.

“But if we don’t get married, I can’t be with him forever.”

“And that’s what you want? To be with him forever?”

“Yes. He’s my best friend.”

Harry sat back in his chair and looked at his godson, who was staring right back with large, earnest brown eyes. “Is that what best friends do, then? Stay together forever?”

“That’s what Ron said.”

“Ron told you that?” That didn’t really sound to Harry like something Ron would ever say.

“I asked him why do people get married, and he said that they get married because they love each other and want to be together for all of their life. And _then_ he said that he was lucky because he was going to marry his best friend, and that was the best thing because best friends are the people you never lose, even when bad things happen. He said best friends are always there for each other.”

Harry nodded. It was all starting to make sense now, where Teddy had gotten his notion to marry Toby. “Well, he is right about that. Best friends are always there for each other. But that doesn’t always mean that we should marry them. You know, Ron and Hermione are my two best friends, but I don’t want to marry them, do I?”

Teddy gave him a confounded look. “Draco isn’t your best friend?”

That brought Harry up short. “He is, in a way. But it’s different. He’s…” He scratched his chin, trying to think of how to explain romantic love without talking about sex. “There are many different kinds of love, you see. There’s the love that you have for your family, like the way that Nana, Draco, and I love you. Then there’s the love you have for your friends, like how I love Ron and Hermione and how you love Toby. And then there’s a different kind of love… it’s… very powerful, and sometimes confusing, and… more complicated.” He paused, thinking he probably wasn’t doing a very good job of explaining this at all. But Teddy was listening with rapt attention, so he plowed on. “That’s called romantic love, and it’s what two people feel between each other when they want to get married. It’s not something you’ll feel until you get older.”

“Why? Why do I have to wait until I get older?”

Harry shrugged. “That’s just the way it works. We get older and we change. We become capable of feeling things we couldn’t feel before.”

Teddy heaved a tremendous sigh, as though this was the worst news he could have heard. Harry smiled warmly at him, feeling amused but also something else… something that warbled inside him, in the deepest part of his heart, a kind of keen, sweet resonance. He reached across the table and stroked lightly along Teddy’s soft cheek.

“Remember what I said, about how some things are better because we had to wait for them? Romantic love is like that. It’s better when we wait for it, when we let it come to us when it’s supposed to.”

Teddy still looked sulky. “I don’t like waiting for things.”

“I know,” Harry said sympathetically. “Nobody really does. But it’s just a part of life. However,” he added, getting a sudden idea, “that doesn’t mean that Toby can’t stay over here sometimes. You can have him come sleep over one weekend, or you could go over to his house for a night, if you wanted.”

Teddy perked up at that. “Really?”

Harry smiled. “Yes, really. That’s if Toby’s parents are agreeable, of course.”

Teddy nodded. “I’ll ask Toby at school tomorrow.”

“Good.” Harry glanced at the clock. “All right, little man, it looks like we have time for one more game before you have to take your bath. What do you want to play?”

“Exploding Snap!” Teddy said enthusiastically.

“Exploding Snap it is, then. But first let’s bring our plates to the sink and clean them, yeah?”

And so began their nightly routine. After a couple of rounds of Exploding Snap (which always gave Teddy a look of intense concentration, since Harry had such good reflexes and was very difficult to beat), Harry ran Teddy a bath. Teddy played with his toys in the water for a while before finally letting Harry wash his hair. Then it was time for pajamas, teeth cleaning, and a story before bed.

“Is Draco coming home tomorrow?” Teddy asked his godfather as Harry bent to give him a kiss goodnight.

“Yep, he’ll be here in the morning. I’m sure you’ll get to see him before you have to go off to school.”

“And he’ll stay the night?”

Harry chuckled. “Yes, Teddy, he’ll stay the night. Two nights, in fact.”

“Good.”

“You miss him, don’t you?”

Teddy nodded. “Why can’t he be here all the time?”

Harry sighed. It was a question Teddy had asked before. Draco had always been around when Teddy used to stay over on the occasional night, back when he lived with Andromeda full-time. Since moving into Grimmauld, Teddy had expressed his surprise and dislike of not having the blond around half the week.

“You know why, Ted. Sometimes they need him to stay at the hospital overnight. It’s important.”

“Because he’s saving lives?”

Harry smiled softly. That was what he had told Teddy last time they’d had this conversation. “Exactly. He’s saving lives.”

Teddy sighed. “All right.”

“He’ll be very happy to see you tomorrow. He misses you too, you know, when he’s at work. He told me so.” He ran a hand across Teddy’s head and down to his cheek. “You ready for bed, then?”

Teddy nodded.

Harry leaned over to kiss him. “Goodnight. I love you.”

“Goodnight. Love you too.”

One last kiss and then Harry tucked Teddy in, turned out the bedside lamp, and stood. On his way out, he turned on the little nightlight that was plugged into the outlet next to the dresser. The bulb on the nightlight was encased inside a plastic blue bird, and so gave off a blue glow that Harry thought he would have found eerie as a child. But Teddy liked it, and that was all that mattered.

After cleaning up from dinner and watching some television, Harry decided it was time for bed himself, and he got ready and crawled in, lamenting, much like Teddy, the absence of Draco. He’d never particularly liked going to bed alone, not since he started living with Draco, but he found that since Teddy had moved in, he felt Draco’s absence even more powerfully.

He pulled the covers around himself, wondering why this was so, until he finally drifted off.

***

It was still dark when Harry woke suddenly, eyes snapping open and then blinking rapidly. He turned his head slightly to see that his bedroom door was ajar and a sliver of light from the hallway was pouring in, just enough to illuminate the little figure that was standing next to his bed, clutching Griffin the lion and watching him.

“Ted?” Harry asked, his voice scratchy. “Are you all right?”

“My light went out,” said the boy softly.

Harry stretched and blinked, his sleep-muddled brain trying to sort through the words. “Your nightlight?” he asked finally.

“Yeah.”

“All right.” Harry sat up and stretched a bit more. “Let’s have a look then.”

He followed Teddy out of his room and down the hall. He switched on the overhead in Teddy’s room and bent down to look at the bird light, to see that it was indeed no longer on. He flicked the switch a few times, just to test it, but it didn’t come on.

“The bulb’s probably burnt out, is all,” he told his godson, plucking the light from the outlet. He unscrewed the plastic bird and lifted it to reveal the small light bulb inside. “Let’s go see if we’ve got another one.”

He heard the soft patter of Teddy’s little feet behind him as he walked down the hall to the closet where they kept batteries, bulbs, and other Muggle household items. He found they were stocked with plenty of bulbs for the lamps and some for the recessed lighting on the main floor, but nothing small enough to suit their needs. He could feel Teddy watching him as he looked over the shelves.

“Looks like I don’t have any small ones here, Ted,” he said. “I’ll have to pick some up tomorrow.” He looked down at the boy to see him staring up at him anxiously. “We can leave the hall light on and the door open, and you’ll get plenty of light in your room.”

Teddy shuffled his feet. “It’s not the same.”

Harry sighed. “I know.” There was something about that little bird that comforted Teddy. Like a guardian. “Would you like to sleep in my bed the rest of the night?”

Teddy nodded vigorously. “Yes, please.”

Harry couldn’t help a smile. Teddy was far too small and sweet to resist. He tried to get Teddy to sleep in his own bed as much as possible, of course, and generally Teddy was pretty good about it. He’d had a few nights in those first two weeks where he hopped into bed with him and Draco, but otherwise had adjusted to sleeping on his own nicely.

But his nightlight was out, and one night wouldn’t hurt.

“Come on, then,” he said, picking Teddy up and heading back down the hall.

Teddy settled in quickly on Draco’s side of the bed, pulling the covers up over himself and burrowing into the mattress. Harry did the same, getting comfortable lying half on his stomach, hands tucked under the pillows. He was halfway to sleep when he felt the presence next to him shift a little and Teddy scooted closer, seeking out the warmth and comfort of his godfather. Harry lifted an arm and let Teddy tuck himself inside, and together they found their way back to sleep.

***

Draco arrived by floo the next morning just as Harry and Teddy were finishing up breakfast.

“Draco!” Teddy cried excitedly as the blond entered the kitchen, going so far as to hop down from his chair and come around the table to give Draco a hug.

Draco scooped him up. “All right there, Teddy?” he said, giving him a kiss.

“We missed you,” Teddy said.

“I missed you too,” Draco replied. He gave Teddy another kiss before setting him down.

“So do I get a kiss too, or what?” said Harry.

Draco smiled and leaned forward, planting a chaste but lingering kiss on Harry’s lips. “Always,” he said.

“How was work?”

“Fine. Uneventful, which has its upsides and its downsides. It requires less energy and focus, but time goes by faster when there’s more to do.”

Harry nodded. “Well, I bet you’re hungry. There’s bacon, eggs, and toast under a stasis charm for you.” He pointed to a plate that was sitting next to the range.

Draco grinned, rubbing his hands together. “Excellent.”

“And the two of us have got to get going, actually.” He turned to Teddy. “Time to get your shoes and jacket on, Ted. And don’t forget your lunch.”

Teddy grabbed his lunch bag from the counter before scooting to the foyer. Harry turned back to Draco again.

“What’s on your agenda for the day?”

“I’ve got some research to catch up on,” Draco replied. Harry nodded. Draco liked to keep on top of new discoveries and advances in the world of healing, to keep his skills up to date. “And I was going to head to Andromeda’s in the afternoon, probably around one, to see how she’s faring.”

Harry frowned. “I wish I could come along.” It felt like ages since he had last seen her. “I feel like I’m neglecting her.”

“She knows how busy we are, Harry. And not too far off we’ll find a time when we can all see her, Teddy included.”

“Hopefully sooner rather than later.” Teddy had begun asking every now and then when he would get to see his Nana, and Harry was always unable to answer except to say, “Soon. Just a little while longer.”

Draco nodded. “Hopefully.” He went over to the range and began the process of putting the kettle on. “You still need me to pick Teddy up from school, right?”

“Yeah, if that’s all right. I have a budget meeting at half past three and I really can’t-“

“It’s no problem, Harry. I’ll take care of it. You don’t have to do everything.”

“That reminds me, while you’re out today, could you go by the shop and pick up some more light bulbs for Teddy’s nightlight? It’s burnt out and he won’t sleep in his room without it.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably. “What sort of… bulbs?”

“You know, for lights? Like what we put in the lamps, but smaller.”

“There are different sizes?”

“Yes,” Harry said, and if there was a slightly impatient edge to his voice, it couldn’t be helped. Draco had been living in a house with electric wiring for four years now. Surely he should have picked up on some of this stuff by now.

“How will I know what size to get?”

“The old bulb is still in the nightlight. Just take a look at it. The wattage and voltage are written right there on the side.”

Draco gave him a blank look, and Harry sighed.

“Never mind,” he said, realizing the inevitable. “I’ll just pick them up on my way home from work."

“I’m sorry, Harry. It’s just… you know I don’t know anything about that sort of thing.”

 _You could learn_ , Harry thought to himself. Draco had shown himself perfectly capable of adapting to Muggle technology when it suited him. He could work the television, the stereo, and all the lamps and light switches. But when it came to changing light bulbs, or replacing the water filter in the refrigerator, or putting fresh batteries in one of Teddy’s Muggle toys, he became suspiciously clueless. It irritated Harry quite a bit, but he hardly had the time to focus on it now.

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “But I’ll be a little later getting home, so you’ll be tasked with keeping Teddy company while I prepare dinner.”

Draco watched him from the range, his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re annoyed with me.”

Harry sighed. He had no interest in starting a row. He had too much else to do. “No, I’m not. I’m just tired.”

“Did you not sleep well?”

“Teddy woke me up, because his nightlight went out, and he couldn’t sleep without it. So he stayed with me the rest of the night.”

“Mm,” was all Draco said in reply.

“So, the light bulbs are important, unless you want Teddy sleeping with us another night.”

“I understand. Like I said, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. Really, it is,” he said, when he saw Draco raise a skeptical eyebrow. He crossed the kitchen to join Draco at the range, slipping his hands around the blond’s waist. “I missed you, that’s all. And I was hoping we’d get a little time to ourselves tonight.” It had been weeks since they’d had a proper shag. Or, at least, that’s what it felt like.

Draco leaned forward to kiss him. It was deeper than the one he’d given Harry in greeting, and Harry let out a small sigh, relishing it.

“We’ll make time,” Draco said after he pulled away.

“I just feel like we-“

But the stomping of little shoed feet could be heard in the hallway, signaling that Teddy was likely ready to go. The boy himself appeared in the kitchen a moment later, and so Harry would have to table that thought for now.

“Tonight,” Draco said softly to him.

Harry nodded and gave him a peck on the lips. “Tonight. I’ll see you then.”

“And I’ll see you when I pick you up from school today,” Draco told Teddy as Harry pulled away.

“’Kay,” said Teddy, running to give Draco a quick hug. “See you later. Love you.”

“Love you too, little man,” Draco replied, chuckling.

Teddy took Harry’s hand as they walked out the door, and Harry smiled down at him, glad, at least, that Teddy seemed quite happy living with him and Draco.

***

The morning passed by quickly for Harry at work, and he was just thinking about having some lunch when there was a knock on his office door. He looked up to see his boss, Naomi, peeking around it.

“Is this a bad time?” she asked him.

“Not at all,” he said, gesturing that she should come in. She did, seating herself across from him and crossing her long legs.

She was a tall woman, curvy and sophisticated, with dark hair she had grown out into loose waves that went just past her shoulders. She looked at Harry with her keen gray eyes, and Harry knew something big had happened.

“What’s up?”

She sighed. “More business with Fawley, I’m afraid.”

Harry snorted softly. “Who is he representing this time?”

“Still the Rowle case. They’ve decided to take it to court.”

Harry froze and stared at her. “How…? Why? Why would they think that’s a good idea?”

She shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. They must know they can’t possibly win. It’s a publicity stunt, no doubt.”

Harry absorbed that. “So, what do we do?”

“The solicitors are on it, of course, gathering all the information they can. That’s why I’m here. They need pensieve memories from you of all your conversations with Fawley regarding the case. Plus any paperwork on Jasmine from the program. Incident reports, anything of that nature.”

“I doubt there’s any paperwork on her at all except for the initial contract,” said Harry. “She’s a model participant in the program. We’ve never had a problem with her and she’s never had a problem with any other child.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“As far as my conversations with Fawley go, it’s just the one from the other week, really. Everything else has been owl correspondence.”

“All right. I’ll need those as well.”

“Sure. No problem.”

“Anything I should know about the conversation? Anything you said that might trip us up in court?”

Harry thought back, trying to remember. So much had happened since then. “I don’t think so. I was very careful. I did antagonize him a bit towards the end, but nothing harassing. I just pointed out the realities Rowle’s circumstances with regards to the custody agreement, and that was enough to irritate Fawley on its own.”

Naomi nodded absently. “Sure, sure.”

“I also may have outright said that we would be fine if the case went to court, since Fawley always threatens that as a last-ditch effort to intimidate us.”

“Yes, well, you had to say that, didn’t you? He needs to believe his threats hold no power.”

“But they don’t, really, do they? I mean, is it really such a big deal that this is going to court? We’ll undoubtedly win, if the case doesn’t get thrown out first.”

Naomi sighed heavily. “Yes, that’s true, but publicity is a concern. I have no doubt that this will make the papers, since that is likely Fawley’s intention with this charade in the first place. And whether we’re in the right or not, a battle in court doesn’t look too good for the Foundation. It would be better if it was handled quietly.”

“Which is exactly why Fawley is going to do this all very loudly,” Harry said, catching on to her point.

“I just think the optics may not be very good for us on this. We started this department to _help_ purebloods, to keep them from being marginalized. This case could make it appear that we are intending just the opposite.”

“We also started this department to help move pureblood culture into the modern era,” Harry countered. “We’ve seen firsthand that the old ways don’t work. They lead to hate, war, and destruction. So there are a few hangers-on, we knew there would be. Most of the pureblood world is with us. Most of the wizarding world is with us.”

Naomi gave him a small smile. “Well said. Which is why I’m having you handle the PR side of things.”

Harry narrowed his eyes at her. “Walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Are you really surprised? I may be the head of this department, but you’re the face. You lend our mission a great deal of credibility, and your name still commands respect. Not just for the things you did in the war,” she said quickly, seeing the look on Harry’s face. “But also for the things you do now. You are still very well-received by the public.”

Harry sighed. “And we’re going to use that to our advantage, are we?”

“Of course,” said Naomi, ever the pragmatist. “I told you the day I offered you the job that your name recognition was an asset I intended to exploit. Don’t go getting squeamish on me now.”

Harry gave her a reluctant smile. It was hard to argue against Naomi’s frank sensibility. While Harry never liked using his fame, Naomi’s complete lack of subterfuge about her agenda comforted him. And if he was going to use his fame for something, at least it was something worthwhile.

Still, handling public relations was never something he would consider enjoyable. It likely meant crafting a message and talking to reporters, the latter of which he found especially odious.

“Assemble a small team,” Naomi suggested. “Take anyone from the department you’d like. Brainstorm how to spin this in our favor and then develop a plan to get the word out.”

Harry nodded, glad he wouldn’t have to take this on alone.

“Personally, I think Clara Abbott could also be a real asset here. It might be a good idea to contact her and see if she’ll go on the record supporting the program and talking about all that it has done for her daughter.”

Harry nodded again. That was a good plan, since Fawley was likely to try and paint the DTF’s after school programs as “brainwashing” or anti-pureblood. And since Clara was a pureblood quite familiar with the program and its mission, she could help counteract that characterization.

“There may be a number of parents who could be a help,” said Harry. “Pureblood and half-blood alike.”

“The more positive testimonials we have, the better, I think,” agreed Naomi. “But there will be more to do besides that.”

Harry sighed. “I know. I’ll think about who I want for the team and give you a list by the end of the day.”

“Thanks, Harry. I appreciate it.”

“No problem.”

She lingered a moment, watching him. “You seem a bit worn out.”

Harry laughed humorlessly. “It’s nothing really. Just balancing work and home life.”

“Ah, yes, and how’s that adjustment going?”

“Actually quite well, to tell you the truth,” said Harry. “Teddy seems happy, though he misses his grandmother, and he misses Draco quite a bit when he’s at the hospital.”

“Well, that’s understandable.”

“It’s just so much work,” said Harry. “It’s the little things, really, and always having to be paying attention. And I’m never really alone. I never realized how much solitude I enjoyed until he moved in.”

Naomi chuckled.

“You’ll know soon enough yourself,” said Harry. Naomi’s wife, Bethwyn, was pregnant with their first child and due within the next few weeks.

“Yes, quite soon.”

“How’s Beth getting on?”

“She’s impatient, I think. She was very taken with the idea of being pregnant at first, but now the novelty has worn off. Her feet ache constantly, and she essentially lives in the bathroom, because she has to pee all the time.”

Harry nodded knowingly. He had heard similar complaints from Fleur and Audrey. “Still, it’s almost here. You’re planning to take that maternity leave?”

“I don’t know. I keep going back and forth about it. It feels a bit privileged to take a maternity leave when I didn’t carry the child myself. Seems a bit like cheating.”

Harry scoffed. “Hardly. You’ll be taking care of your daughter plenty _after_ she’s born, and Beth will need a rest, won’t she?”

Naomi thought about that. “Yes, she will.”

“So don’t think of it as doing it for yourself. Do it for her sake. Parenting on your own is hard, harder than most people realize. And I’m just speaking from experience with a five-year-old. An infant is a whole other matter altogether.”

“You make an excellent point.”

Harry grinned. “I know.”

“But the work here is so important. It never stops.”

“Yes, but you’ve set yourself up a very competent department. We can handle ourselves for a few months. Besides, what’s more important than your own family?”

“Again, you’re right.” She gave him a wry smile. “You know, before I met Beth I wasn’t sure I wanted children.”

“What changed?”

“She wanted them.”

“Ah.”

“And I got older. My friends started having kids. You know how it was after the war. Anyone who was paired off and old enough was eloping and procreating like there was no tomorrow.”

Harry nodded. He remembered.

“Suddenly I was surrounded by babies, and it got me thinking about having my own. It wasn’t peer pressure so much as that I finally got to see what _was_ possible, how children change you, and change what matters to you.”

Harry smiled softly. “That’s true.”

“Now I find I’m quite looking forward to it. Even the nappy changes and all that. I just think… you’re facilitating a life, you know? You’re shaping a human being. The work we do here is important, yes, but that… parenting, I mean really doing the thing properly, that’s an important kind of work all its own.”

Harry gave her a warm look of agreement. “There you are then.”

“Yes, there we are, after all. I suppose I can’t justify not taking the leave, after I‘ve said all that.”

Harry laughed. “No, I suppose not.”

She narrowed her eyes, shaking a finger at him in mock accusation. “There’s just something about you, isn’t there?”

Harry looked back, confused. “What do you mean?”

“I mean you’re so bloody honest… and earnest, it makes a person… look inward, I suppose, be honest with themselves.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t think you have any trouble being honest, Naomi. Almost to a fault, I would say.”

“Back at you, Harry,” she said with a wink. “But you know, there’s being honest – frank, I mean – with others, and then there’s being honest with yourself. Which is altogether different. And a lot harder to do. You somehow manage to be both.”

Harry frowned. “I try to be.”

“Which is more than most people can say for themselves, I think.”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Self-examination is not for the faint of heart.”

“How did we get on this topic, exactly?”

She looked at him soberly. “I just think it’s important for you to know that I… I see you. I see _you_. I’m not talking about the name and the scar and all that celebrity stuff. I know I use it to our advantage, but I hope you know that’s not why you’re here. You’re here because of who you are, what you bring, outside of all the Savior business. I just want to make sure you know that.”

Harry eyed her, and she stared back at him levelly. “I do know that. But it’s nice to hear anyway.”

“Good,” she stood, adjusting the sleeves of her blazer. “Because I’d never be able to find another deputy like you, so I’ve got to make sure I keep you happy.”

Harry laughed, and she smiled at him.

“I’ll see you for the budget meeting this afternoon,” she went on. “And get me that list when you can.”

“Will do. See you then.”

And with that Naomi left him in peace, to consider the prospect of lunch, and all that she had said.

***

At the end of the workday he nearly forgot to run by the shop for the light bulbs. Luckily he thought of it just as he was about to enter the floo. It wouldn’t have been the end of the world to arrive home and then have to run back out again, but it would have been annoying, and Harry was quite tired already. Meetings about the department budget always sucked his energy and put him in a bit of a stupor. All that talk of maths and revenue and fiscal quarters… it would be enough to put even Hermione Granger to sleep.

Draco and Teddy were in the sitting room together when he entered, Teddy coloring in one of his coloring books on the floor while Draco sat beside him, back against the bottom of the sofa, and kept him talking about his day at school.

Both boys greeted him warmly when he walked in, Teddy jumping up to give him a hug and Draco standing a bit more slowly and then kissing him with a sweetness that had Harry craving more.

But not in front of Teddy, of course. He pulled away.

“You blokes hungry?” he asked them. “Shall I start dinner?”

They both indicated that they were, so Harry made his way to the kitchen, leaving Draco and Teddy to return to coloring and conversation. As Harry preheated the oven and took the ingredients out of the fridge for dinner, he found himself looking back towards the sitting room every now and then, trying to catch some glimpse of Draco or Teddy through the doorway. He couldn't hear them anymore over the bubbling of the pasta water and the sizzling of meat in the pan, and it brought up a strange feeling of separateness in him, a kind of loneliness that was altogether different than the solitude he used to relish when he had the house to himself. It was more like the loneliness one felt when they found themselves at a party where they didn't know anyone, when they weren't sure how or if they belonged.

The spell broke as he heard Teddy giggle and Draco's deeper laugh follow not long after. He was being ridiculous, and he knew it. He shook himself, realizing the pasta was done and needed to be drained. He just wanted to be _there,_ with them, that was all. He wanted to spend some time with them, be in on the fun. But dinner was almost ready, and he would get his chance.

The odd feeling was gone altogether by the time they sat down to dinner, and Harry got Teddy to relay to Draco what they had discussed the night before, about marriage, and Toby, and best friends, and love. Harry could tell that Draco found the whole thing as funny and heartwarming as Harry had, and the two men exchanged amused glances while Teddy talked. The warmth in Draco’s eyes brought back with full force the need that had been building in Harry’s gut for the past few days, and he found himself hoping that the rest of the evening would pass quickly.

Draco handled Teddy’s nighttime routine so that Harry could clean the kitchen, and Harry took a moment as he loaded the dishwasher to be grateful for the nights that Draco was home. It made such a difference to share all the small burdens of being a parent. He looked forward to when Draco could be home every night.

_Only two years and nine months to go._

Teddy would be eight by then. What an odd thought.

A Patronus suddenly appeared in the kitchen, and Harry recognized it as Draco’s, mostly because it looked so much like his.

After they left Hogwarts Draco had finally relented and let Harry teach him the Patronus Charm. He had been reluctant because it was understood that Death Eaters were incapable of performing it. Harry knew this wasn’t necessarily true, of course, considering Snape had been able to perform the charm, and that, in the end, was what had convinced Draco to give it a try.

It had been easier than either of them expected. Harry very smugly hinted that it was because being with him made Draco so happy that a Patronus was easy. And he had been doubly smug when Draco managed a real, full-fledged corporeal one and they saw that its form had taken on that of a stag. Just like Harry’s.

“It’s because you _love_ me,” Harry had teased him relentlessly. “You want to be with me _forever._ ”

Draco had rolled his eyes and scowled, but not denied the accusation. Because, after all, they both knew the truth.

Harry smiled to himself as he remembered, but then made himself focus, as the Patronus was now speaking in Draco’s voice.

“Teddy has reminded me that he needs his nightlight bulb change. And he wants a kiss from you before he goes to bed.”

Right, the nightlight. Harry grabbed the package of bulbs that he had set on the counter and headed upstairs.

They finally got Teddy tucked in and content, and it seemed he would drift off quickly. Harry was glad, because he had plans for Draco.

“What do you feel like?” Draco asked him once they were in the hallway. “Telly? Read by the fire for a bit? Or I could rub _your_ feet for a change, since you had a long day.”

“Actually,” Harry said softly, grabbing Draco around the waist. “What I really feel like is jumping you and having my way with you while you scream my name in ecstasy.”

Draco laughed and kissed him.

“I’m not joking,” Harry clarified.

“I know you’re not,” said Draco, kissing him again, deeper this time. Harry moaned and licked his tongue along Draco’s bottom lip, eliciting a sigh from the Slytherin. “But,” he continued, pulling away, “we’ve just got Teddy off to bed and I think we should wait a couple of hours to be sure he’s fully asleep.”

“I’ll put wards up,” Harry promised. “Silencing charms all over the room.”

“Of course, but I want to be sure. Just give it a little. We’ll go down to the lounge, watch some telly, and snuggle up and grope each other. It’ll be like.. extended foreplay.”

Harry scowled. “Extended foreplay” sounded like something he was far too impatient for at the moment.

But he went along with it, knowing that Draco was right. If Teddy was still asleep come ten o’clock, it usually meant he would be down for the night. Harry could handle waiting that much longer, couldn’t he?

They didn’t end up watching the television at all, really. They were too busy snogging, rolling around on the wide leather sofa like a couple of teenagers at Hogwarts who were meeting up in the common room after curfew.

There was something about Teddy’s presence in the house, Harry realized as he played with Draco’s nipples through his shirt and gave him small love bites along his pale neck, that made the two men regress a little to their 8th year days. This was the way they used to do things at the start of their relationship: heavy snogs, lots of teasing, and getting off with their clothes still on. Since Teddy had moved in there had been some sex, but it was mostly hands and mouths, hurried, paranoid that Teddy would come in and catch them.

There had been something a little fun and novel about it at first, but Harry was well ready to fuck Draco senseless. There was nothing for it. They would just have to ward the hell out of their bedroom and hope for the best, because Harry was determined to get his, and Draco was clearly feeling the same.

By the time ten o’clock rolled around Harry was so worked up that he had half a mind to simply vanish their clothing and take Draco right there on the sofa. But Draco talked some sense into him, and at least managed to get him upstairs before Harry started practically ripping his clothes off.

“The wards,” a breathless, naked Draco said as Harry tried to shove him onto the bed. “Don’t forget the wards.”

Harry lifted his wand and cast the necessary spells, silencing the room and putting a light shield on the door, which would at least stall Teddy for a bit. He also cast an alarm charm that would alert them with a chime if Teddy had left his bed and entered the hallway.

“There,” he said to his lover. “Happy?”

“Not yet,” Draco replied. “You still have your pants on.”

Harry took care of that quickly, then clambered on top of Draco, pressing their naked bodies together.

“Mm, fuck yes," said Draco against Harry’s mouth. “I forgot how good it feels to just be _naked_.”

“I know,” Harry agreed, nibbling his earlobe before descending along his jaw. They had taken this all for granted.

But not anymore.

“Turn over,” Harry said.

“What?”

“On your stomach. Now.”

It had been a while, too, since he had used his commanding voice in bed, and he had nearly forgotten the way it made Draco’s pupils dilate. The blond quickly flipped himself so he was on his stomach, practically offering himself to Harry with the way he was arching his lithe, muscular back. Harry took a moment to admire it, as well as Draco’s sculpted arse, before he grabbed his wand and cast a cleansing charm, then started playing at Draco’s entrance with his fingers. They were both in a bit of a hurry, yes, but Draco still needed some preparation, and Harry knew just how he wanted to do it.

He started at the base of Draco’s neck, kissing and licking his way down the spine. Draco gripped the headboard as he writhed and ground his arse against Harry. He knew what was coming, and he was anxious for it.

Harry arrived at Draco’s tailbone and kept going, dipping his tongue into the cleft of Draco’s arse before seeking out his entrance. He put his mouth over the tight, hot space and penetrated Draco with his tongue, making the blond whimper his name. He was grinding against the sheets shamelessly, undoubtedly trying to get some friction for his leaking cock. The thought of it hardened Harry to the point of pain. He would need to take care of that, and soon.

He withdrew his tongue and stifled the whine of protest from Draco when he replaced it quickly with two lubed fingers, which he began scissoring and circling to stretch the entrance.

“Dammit, Harry, I’m ready,” Draco said, glancing at him over his shoulder. “Just fucking fuck me.”

“Better to be sure,” Harry said. “I don’t want to hurt you.” Mild pain was sometimes a part of their play, such as spanking and whatnot, but this was different.

“I don’t care,” said Draco. “I _want_ to be sore tomorrow. I want to be so sore I’m walking sideways.”

 _Fuck._ Well, if that was how Draco wanted it…

He put the lube and his wand on the bedside table, grabbed Draco by the hair, and positioned himself. Then, in one fluid motion, he slammed home.

“Oh, fuck!” Draco cried.

Harry smiled darkly, though Draco couldn’t see. “Like that?” he said. “You want to be fucked like that?” He slammed in again.

“Yes,” Draco gasped. “Yes. Fuck me like you mean it, Harry.”

Harry huffed a laugh, then thrust in again. “Oh, I mean it.”

He picked up the pace but kept it hard, encouraged by Draco’s reactions. Draco arched against Harry’s punishing rhythm, and the two moved in sync, moaning and growling and clutching at whatever they could. Harry wasn’t going to last long like this, that he knew, but he didn’t care. This was what he needed. This was what he had been craving.

“Fuck, yes, Draco,” he said, gripping the blond by the hips for purchase. “I’ve been dreaming about this all week. Pounding your arse and making you scream.”

Draco moaned and squeezed around him.

“Making you beg for more. Making you _come_.”

“Yes, Harry, please,” Draco mewled, his words muffled as he buried his face in the pillow. Harry saw that Draco was reaching for his cock, and he grinned evilly, grabbing his wand from the bedside table and waving it so that bindings appeared around Draco’s wrists. They pulled forwards and attached themselves to the headboard, keeping Draco from touching himself.

“Please, Harry,” Draco gasped. “Please let me come.”

“I don’t just let you come, Draco,” he replied. “I _make_ you come. Only me. Do you understand?”

“Y-yes. Please.”

Harry was nearing his peak. The hot, sweet need had been there from the beginning, just a hair’s breadth away from tipping over, but he knew now that there really was no going back, and he wouldn’t last much longer.

“Tell me,” he said, leaning over to speak in Draco’s ear. “Beg me.”

“Please, Harry. Make me come. Make me come just for you.”

 _That_ was what he wanted to hear, and he reached around, finding Draco’s rock hard cock and pumping it in time with his thrusts. He slowed down, just a little, savoring it, knowing these last few moments would be the end. One arm gripping around Draco’s chest, face pressed into Draco’s shoulder, he thrust, once, twice, thrice, and came, coating Draco’s insides and biting down on the shoulder hard enough to leave a mark.

This triggered Draco’s orgasm, and he sprayed all over Harry’s hand and the sheet below them, trembling and moaning and grinding against Harry.

The two men collapsed onto the bed. Harry nuzzled his face against Draco’s sweaty shoulder, licking at and kissing the little bruise he had made with the bite, almost like an apology, though he knew Draco actually liked that sort of thing.

“That was exactly what I needed,” Draco said.

Harry sighed in contentment. “Me too. We can’t wait that long again. I’ll go mad.”

“Agreed.”

Harry mustered the energy to grab his wand, undoing Draco’s bindings, cleaning them up, and removing some of the wards on the bedroom in case Teddy needed them in the middle of the night. He then settled against Draco again, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist and burying his nose in the back of Draco’s neck. He could already feel himself slipping into sleep, but he made himself focus long enough to say one more thing, because it seemed important.

“I love you.”

Draco hummed happily. “Love you too.”

Harry smiled and closed his eyes, already halfway gone.


	13. The Bully

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A continued thanks to those who have been reaching out and giving me your thoughts in the comments!!! It means a lot to me, even when I know there are elements of this story that are challenging. 
> 
> Many of you were looking forward to how all this Blaise/Vesper drama was going to unfold. This installment takes us a few steps further down that road, and I hope you enjoy it!

(Vesper)

“Guess what, Little Kitty?”

Vesper closed the door of her locker with a slam and continued to stare at it, refusing to look at the source of the voice, though he was standing close.

“What, Dempsey?” she asked tightly. She knew she should have stuck to keeping her things in the women’s locker room down the hall. She had a lot more privacy there. But this was just so convenient, as it was attached to the Auror training room, and even though it was coed, provided separate bathrooms and private changing rooms, which was really all she needed. The downside, of course, was that it meant she shared a locker room with Chadwick Dempsey.

“I checked the roster. Weasley’s finally put us together. We duel this afternoon.”

Vesper took a moment to absorb that, then finally did look at Dempsey. He was leaning against the locker on one shoulder, his dark eyes glinting and his mouth twisted in a familiar sneer.

“Good,” she said. “I’ve been hoping for this.”

“Me too,” he said. “I’ve wanted this for _such_ a long time.”

Vesper sighed. “I don’t know why you would. You do realize I’m going to destroy you, right?”

He didn’t scoff or laugh derisively, nothing she expected. He barely moved, his mouth twitching in a half smile. “It’s cute, you know, the way you think winning a couple of competitions means you can beat me.”

“A couple of competitions?” Vesper said, unable to help herself. She knew he was goading her, but it was impossible not to respond. “I was nationally ranked by the age of eighteen. And I’ve been the UK’s Grand Champion for the past three years. Whereas you…” She looked him up and down. “With captain of the dueling club at Hogwarts as your claim to fame? _That’s_ cute. That’s freaking adorable.”

His eyes narrowed. “You know, boasting is hardly attractive for a woman. You should be careful with that.”

“Thanks for the tip,” she replied coolly. “Since that’s my main goal in life, to make sure you find me attractive.”

His eyes raked over her, feeling as invasive as hands would have been. “Well, I wouldn’t kick you out of bed, that I’ll admit. You’re not _pretty_ , you know, but you’re still decent to look at. And I can’t help but think you’ve got staying power. _Stamina_ , if you know what I mean.”

Vesper’s face twisted in disgust, but it didn’t deter him.

“I bet you could go all night, if a man knows how to push your buttons.”

“Though that man will never be you,” she replied flatly.

“Oh, I don’t know.” He leaned in, and Vesper bristled at the proximity, in spite of herself. “It depends on the way we fight, I think. If we fight hard and hot, then we’ll probably fuck hard and hot, too, don’t you think?”

“In your dreams, Dempsey.”

His chuckle was dark and foreboding in her ear. “Oh, _absolutely_. How did you know? Been using Legilimency on me, you sneaky little thing? I might just repay the favor.”

Vesper’s whole body tensed, her stomach twisting. That thought terrified her more than she cared to admit. She’d never been very good at Occlumency. She clenched her hands to keep them from shaking. “Back off,” she growled at him, once she had found her voice. “Back the fuck off before I hex you into next week.”

“Oh, I’d like to see you try.” Dempsey’s tone went from lecherous to vicious in an instant, and Vesper realized that she found this as discomfiting as the rest of it. “You are such a smug little thing, aren’t you? It’s about time someone put you in your place.” He was right up against her, his voice barely audible now.

“Dempsey!” someone barked behind them, and Vesper turned to see Declan standing there, arms crossed and looking much like Ron did when he was displeased. He was glaring at Dempsey. “Save it for the dueling floor. That is, if you think you can handle it.”

Dempsey smirked at him. “Oh, I’ll _handle_ it all day, I promise you that.” He lifted himself off the locker, gave Vesper a wink, and sauntered off.

“You all right?” Declan asked her.

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

He watched her for a moment, then nodded. “Teach him a lesson, would you? He needs one, _desperately_.”

It was Vesper’s turn to smirk. “Trust me, I plan to.”

Once all the trainees had gathered in the dueling room, Ron picked out which pairs would duel first. He usually only had two or three pairs duel at a time, so that the others had the benefit of watching and observing technique.

“All right,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Let’s have… Abernathy and Carlisle, Morgan and Green, and… Kemp and Dempsey.”

Vesper let out a heavy breath. _Yes._ She wanted to go first. She wanted this now. Her body was humming with it, with the words Dempsey had muttered in her ear, with the way he looked at her, derisive and lustful all at once, with the way he made her _feel_ , the power he thought he had over her.

_No more._

All three pairs got into position, spreading out so they had room to move and could be seen by the other trainees, Ron, and Ron’s teaching assistant, Gerald Weekes. Vesper turned to face Dempsey, bowing as she was always taught to do. Dempsey somehow managed to bend his body without conceding anything, without showing her slightest ounce of respect, but she didn’t care. He would respect her after this. She would _make_ him.

“And…” Ron said, checking one last time that they were all in position. “Begin.”

Vesper didn’t wait even a second to throw her first spell, a Stinging Hex that Dempsey, to her chagrin, mostly managed to dodge. It caught his hand, though, and he winced before firing back a spell immediately, which Vesper blocked, sidestepping so she could throw three more hexes, two to distract and a third to stun. Luckily the Stretching Jinx hit its mark, and Dempsey’s head pelted towards the ceiling as his legs and torso elongated. Even as a larger target he still managed to sidestep her stunner though, stumbling a little but recovering enough to throw up a shield so he could figure out how to shrink back to his original size.

Vesper started throwing everything she could at the shield, but nothing would penetrate, and she growled deep in her throat in annoyance. Dempsey was a better duelist than she thought.

“Do something, Kemp,” she heard Ron say from the sidelines. “Remember what you’ve learned.”

 _Right, the Shield-Shatterer._ They had learned this only recently. She’d never done it before in competitions, because it was immensely hard and required the gathering and expulsion of a lot of magical power. But, if Dempsey was going to cower behind his shield, as powerful as it was, what other choice did she have?

She concentrated, keeping her eyes on Dempsey and the shimmering wall in front of him. This would be easier if she could close her eyes, but she couldn’t give him that advantage.

She gathered from her core, imagining the power growing inside her, ready to be unleashed at any moment. When she thought she couldn’t gather any more, she raised her wand, pointing it at Dempsey.

“ _Parma Discutio!_ ” she shouted, and a violently white light erupted from her wand, heading straight towards Dempsey.

But he had been anticipating it, and had apparently spent his time behind the shield coming up with a counter-attack, because just as the spell was about to hit he shattered his shield himself. The spells collided and a powerful wave of magic swept through the room. The observers ducked out of its way, but Vesper had been right in its path, too close to react, and it overtook her, filling her ears with a deafening burst of static and knocking her to the ground.

 _What the hell?_ she thought as she tried her damndest to reorient herself. _How the hell did he do that?_

But she had no time to think more about it, because Dempsey was apparently unaffected, and was now firing spells at her while she lay on the ground. She rolled over, avoiding what looked like an Instant Scalping Hex, and scrambled to her feet quickly, but not before Dempsey managed to hit her with something else.

A Fire-head Curse. Vesper screamed, in spite of herself. She’d never experienced this firsthand before, but it _burned_ , not on her skin, but inside her head, like her brain was going to melt. She heard shouting, although she didn’t know who it was, or why.

She quickly cast the Cool-head counter-curse and stood, her eyes blazing. Now she was _pissed_. How _dare_ he use that on her? It was out of line, against the rules, and he was going to pay.

Fast as lightning she fired off three spells, anything she could think of in the heat of the moment. She kept them non-verbal; it was always faster that way, and she didn’t want Dempsey to see it coming. He was going to _suffer_ , and not even know how he got there. She dodged and fired, dodged and fired, so fast that Dempsey’s eyes were darting everywhere, trying to block them all. But a look of panic was starting to grow on his face. He was hardly firing off any spells of his own now, only trying to avoid hers as she stung him all over his hands and arms, made pus start pouring out of his nose, and caused his whole lower body to inflate. She smirked. She had him now. But how to finish him?

A well-placed Orbis Jinx had him sinking into the floor, and it swallowed him up until only his shoulders, neck, and head remained. Somewhere, above the roar in her ears, there was someone shouting her name, but she ignored it. This was it, what she wanted. The chance to show him what she was made of once and for all. She had to make sure it was memorable.

She raised her wand, but was suddenly blown off her feet and back by what she had to assume was a Knockback Jinx. But who had thrown it? Dempsey’s wand and hands were trapped inside the floor; it couldn’t have been him. Dazed, she shook her head and sat up, only to come face to face with Ron Weasley staring down at her with a livid expression.

“Get up,” he said. His voice was quiet but remarkably dangerous.

Vesper shook herself, confused. It wasn’t until she stood and looked around that she realized everyone was staring at her, wide-eyed.

 _What?_ she wanted to say to the room at large. _He deserved it._

But Ron was looking at her in such a way that she knew saying that now would be incredibly stupid.

Had she screwed up here? Her heart was still hammering so hard she could hear it in her ears, a combination of adrenaline and residual anger making her twitchy. She had done what she had to do, hadn’t she? She _had_ to show Dempsey that he couldn’t mess with her anymore. Didn’t Ron get that?

Out of the corner of her eye she could see Weekes bending over Dempsey. He’d been pulled out of the floor but was still covered in stings, which Weekes was working to heal with his wand. Her stomach lurched. Dempsey didn’t look so good, and she had done that to him.

 _He deserved worse_ , said a voice in her head, and the flavor of that thought, dark and bitter, like burnt toast, disturbed her.

“You,” Ron said, pointing at her, his suppressed rage never wavering for a moment, “and you.” He turned to a now-healed Dempsey, who was glaring at Vesper mutinously. “Come with me. Now.” He looked at Weekes. “You good to cover here? I’ve got to have a chat with these two idiots.”

Vesper winced. That stung, especially coming from Ron. She’d never, ever thought he would think such a thing of her.

They followed Ron all the way to his office in silence, both of them refusing to look at each other.

 _Fuck_ , Vesper thought. What was Ron going to do?

They arrived at his office and he opened it, gesturing them inside, his expression cold. He closed the door behind him and then turned to face them, crossing his arms over his chest and looking from one of them to the other. The silence dragged on.

“What the bloody hell is wrong with the two of you?” Ron asked finally, his voice surprisingly calm.

Both of them burst into talking at once.

“It’s not my fault she’s insane-”

“ _He_ used a prohibited curse on me-”

“Apparently all she knows is Stinging Hexes-“

“What was I supposed to do-“

“She should be locked up-“

“I was just defending myself-“

“Shut. The fuck. Up,” Ron said, his deep voice cutting across their arguments and silencing them. “The both of you.” He looked at each of them again. “I honestly haven’t seen this kind of petty rivalry or infighting since my Hogwarts days. You know, back when I was _fifteen_ and there was a war on, and we actually had something real to fight about. But this…”

Vesper clenched her jaw to keep herself from opening her mouth and arguing again. The mature, adult part of her knew this was the only smart thing to do. But there was another part that was screaming loudly in her head.

_It’s not fair! He started it!_

“I don’t expect you to like each other. I don’t _care_ if you do. I don’t care if you’re friends or if you hate each other’s bloody guts. But I expect you to behave like professionals. This job is literally life or death. If you can’t manage to get along with your colleagues well enough to trust they won’t hex you when your back is turned, then you have no business being here. We have to be a team. We have to trust each other. And I would expect the two of you, who are among the best in your class, to model that for the rest of the trainees.”

That brought Vesper up short. Dempsey was one of the best in the class? Since when?

“Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir,” Vesper said softly, while next to her Dempsey mumbled the same.

“Look at me.”

Vesper lifted her eyes to see Ron watching her, his face pure stone.

“If I see anything like that again, _anything_ , you’re out. There will not be another warning.”

Vesper swallowed. He was serious. He wasn’t going to shield her, apparently. Not from this. Ron turned his head to look at Dempsey.

“We don’t fuck around, and we don’t attack, harass, abuse, or humiliate each other. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they both said again.

“I can’t believe I even have to bloody explain this to you, but here we are. Now…” He took a deep breath. “I have a few things to say to each of you in private. Kemp, I’ll take you first. Dempsey, wait outside.”

Dempsey turned to go without another word, and soon Vesper and Ron were alone. There was an extended silence in which Ron went around behind his desk and leaned on his hands against it, staring at the patterns in the wood.

“I’m sorry,” Vesper said finally, when she couldn't take the silence anymore.

Ron let out a long, loud breath, bowing his head. “What happened, Vesper?”

“I didn’t mean for it to go that far. It just… he’s…” How did she explain all this without sounding like a whiny brat, a tattle-tale? “He says things to me. Stuff… sexual stuff, sometimes. And sometimes it’s just mean. But it gets under my skin. I can’t help it. He just… knows the right buttons to push.”

Ron sighed. “And so your way to handle it is to decide to duel him into mush?”

“What would you have me do? Let him walk all over me?”

“I would expect you to come to me directly, tell me what’s going on.”

Vesper scoffed. “Yeah, that will go over well with the guys, me running to teacher every time they hurt my feelings.”

“Sweet Merlin, Vesper…” Ron rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I don’t know how you got it into your head… this isn’t Hogwarts, or Ilvermorny, and we’re not teenagers anymore. This isn’t some arsehole pulls a prank on you in Care of Magical Creatures and you retaliate to put him in his place. This isn’t… just last week you were complaining to me about how this place feels like a boy’s club and there’s unfair hazing and…” He sighed again. “But you’re here, buying into it, participating, instead of trying to _break_ the cycle and actually get the hazing to stop. I want to help you, but I can’t help if you don’t talk to me about things.”

“I get that,” Vesper said. “But I really think it will be better in the long run if I handle this myself.”

“Oh, really? Well, if this is your version of ‘handling it,’ then you won’t last long.” He was looking directly at her now, his eyes hard and glinting. “You see, there’s this little thing we have to worry about called _excessive force_ , which we can never use on a suspect and which we sure as hell can never use on each other. We do what’s necessary to take down the perp, but not any more than that, otherwise things get tricky when the case goes to trial. We have to be careful. We have to control ourselves.”

“I have control. I knew what I was doing.”

“Did you?” His expression had now taken on one of angry skepticism. “Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were about ready to remove a limb. You think that’s control?”

“I just wanted to scare him-“

“You're not _hearing_ me, Vesper," he said over her. "It doesn’t fucking matter what you were _trying_ to do; you were crossing a line and everyone could see it. And I can’t protect you from something like this. Not only would that kind of favoritism lose me credibility with all of my other trainees, it would likely cost me my job.” He turned away from her for a moment, and she felt the first stirrings of shame. “I don’t know what the hell is wrong with you but get it together. I need to know that you have better control than this. I need to know that if it came to confronting a suspect, you wouldn’t pull anything like that again.”

“I wouldn’t,” Vesper insisted. “It’s just… something about Dempsey, ok?”

Ron shook his head. “That doesn’t do it for me. That doesn’t make me trust you.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Vesper said, aware that her voice had gone shaky. “You don’t know what it _feels_ like, to feel like someone’s breathing down your neck, waiting for you to screw up, putting all his energy into making you miserable…”

Ron snorted, turning back to her. “You think I don’t know a thing or two about being bullied? I know plenty.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “ _You_ were bullied?” She couldn’t imagine that. Ron was… not huge, exactly, but certainly physically intimidating. And he seemed so… confident, comfortable in his own skin. Perhaps when she had first met him, right before he graduated from Hogwarts, he wasn’t quite like that. He was thinner then, at least. But he was also already a war hero with an Order of Merlin and a guaranteed spot at the Auror Academy.

“In school, yeah, I was. Excessively. I mean, some of it wasn’t a big deal, like my brothers. They didn’t exactly help my confidence or anything, but I knew they cared about me. But there were others… there were people for whom tormenting me was their all-time favorite sport. Maybe second only to tormenting Harry. My family didn’t have a lot of money, you see. And I was already gangly and fairly awkward. And it was a different time, politically, and since I was a blood traitor whose best friend was a Mudblood…”

Vesper flinched at the word, remembering her dad talking about how it felt to be called that when he was in school. “What did you do?”

“I fought; I cast hexes, some of which backfired spectacularly.” An amused expression actually crossed his face for a moment before quickly fading. “I _tried_ to ignore it, when I could, but I… I was very sensitive to it. It bothered me back then, what people thought of me. Even Slytherin prats like Draco Malfoy.”

“Draco? _He_ was the one bullying you?”

Ron gave her a surprised look. “He was the worst. Most of the Slytherins were bad, but they had nothing on him. Surely you knew some of that already.”

Vesper _had_ heard reference to it. Draco mentioned it himself, once in a blue moon. But she couldn’t imagine it. She couldn’t reconcile sweet, considerate, good-natured Draco with someone who would torment you if you didn’t have a lot of money or hung around with Muggleborns. “I just can’t picture it.”

Ron chuckled. “No, I suppose not. He changed, of course. He’s basically become a different person. I mean, you can see some of the old threads of his personality in there. He’s still a bloody snob.” But Ron grinned as he said this, and Vesper figured he was mostly joking. “Falling in love with Harry changed him completely. Or maybe the war had already changed him somewhat. I don’t know. The point is, it got better for me. But not just because Draco got better. In fact, that had really nothing to do with it.”

Vesper nodded, catching on. “ _You_ changed, is what you’re saying.”

“I grew up,” Ron said. “I stopped worrying about what most people thought and started worrying instead about being who I needed to be for the people I loved.” He licked his lips. “I’m not trying to tell you who you should be, Vesper. But… well, honestly, I don’t think I could have figured it all out on my own. If I didn’t have Harry and Hermione… I think when you have the right people in your life, they teach you to be better. Hermione was so good about transcending all the bullying, all the slurs on her blood status and the pettier stuff, like the way she looked, her hair and her teeth.” His face softened with the memory of it for a moment. “And Harry showed me how to be less selfish, to think of others, to do the right thing even when it would hurt me or make people dislike me. It wasn’t that they didn’t care about me. Just the opposite. They wanted me to grow; they wanted me to be happy. So…” He turned to look at her. “I’m going to say this, because you’re my friend, and I care about you, and I think you could be a bloody brilliant Auror. But you have to grow up and get control of yourself, before this all falls apart.”

Vesper stared at him, absorbing that. It would have been condescending coming from someone else, or if Ron hadn’t just shared all that he had shared. But he was trying to tell her… how alike they were, maybe. He was trying to tell her that this was important.

She knew he was right. She had crossed a line. But there was more to it than that, and she didn’t know how to explain it. She _couldn’t_ , because it meant explaining things that she kept strictly to herself, things that no one else knew, not even Blaise, or Harry, or Draco.

“I hear you,” she said finally.

Ron was watching her carefully, and she found that she had to look away.

“If there’s something else, something I should know… You know you can tell me anything, right, and I would keep it confidential.”

Vesper swallowed, her throat suddenly acidic. She shook her head. “No, there’s nothing.”

Ron snorted delicately. “All right. You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I know everybody has their secrets.”

That made Vesper turn back to him. It wasn't that odd of a thing to say, given the context, but there was something in his tone that gave her pause. “Where did that come from?” she asked.

Ron stilled, looking down at his desk. “Nothing.” He shook his head.

“Now who’s keeping secrets?” Vesper said with a smirk, glad to have something to distract her from her thoughts.

Ron rolled his eyes. “I’m not keeping secrets.”

Vesper made a skeptical noise.

“It’s Hermione,” Ron said with a sigh. “I think... I think she’s keeping something from me, but I don’t know what.”

Vesper raised her eyebrows, surprised. “How can you tell?”

Ron shrugged. “I’ve known her for over half my life.”

“Is it something… bad?”

“I think it would have to be, for her to keep it from me.”

“Surely you don't think she’s…” Vesper didn’t really want to finish that sentence, and maybe she shouldn’t, she realized. But then Ron finished it for her.

“Cheating on me? No. I don’t think it’s that. She knows that's the one thing... No." He shook his head. "She wouldn't do it. Besides which, things between us have been really good, actually. She's been telling me all the time lately how happy she is with me, and I can tell that she means it. Plus we’re…” He rubbed the back of his neck, his face turning pink, and Vesper was surprised to see he was actually fighting back a smile. “Well, to be honest, we’re… having a lot of sex. A hell of a lot. More than I thought humanly possible, in fact.”

Vesper couldn’t help it; she started laughing. Ron glanced at her, a somewhat sheepish grin forming on his face.

“Don’t tell anyone I’m telling you this,” he said.

“I won’t. I promise,” she replied.

“Anyway… I don’t see how it’s possible that she could be sleeping with someone else." His tone was dry, amused. "I don’t know where she’d get the time or the energy.”

Vesper chuckled some more, slowly letting it subside. “You have a point,” she said. “So, if things are so good between you, why do you think she’s hiding something?”

“I don’t know how to explain it. I just… when we’re together, she’s so focused on me. She keeps the subject on me. And when it steers back to her… that’s usually when she jumps me. It’s like she’s avoiding something. Or maybe filling a void of some kind… with sex, with me… Like I said I can’t really explain it. It’s just a feeling.”

Vesper thought about that. It didn’t seem to really track for her. When you had a secret, didn’t you usually push people away, rather than pull them closer? Didn’t you try to keep people at a distance, so they couldn’t learn the truth?

"is there any chance you're imagining it?"

Ron sighed. "Yes, there is. Which is why I haven't asked her about it. That, and my hope is that if I'm right, and she is hiding something, then she has a good reason. My hope is that she'll tell me when she's ready so I don't _have_ to ask."

“Maybe it’s a good secret," Vesper offered. "Something she’s _going_ to tell you, but just not yet. Like a surprise.”

Ron’s brow furrowed. “A surprise? Like what?”

Vesper had a sudden thought. “What if she’s pregnant?”

“Pregnant?” Ron shook is head. “No, it’s not possible.”

“Why not?”

“She would have told me about it right away, for one thing.”

“Not if she thought you might not react well or something.”

“There’s no way. She knows that I would be happy. She would never have to worry about something like that.”

“Well, maybe she’s… saving it then. Waiting for the right moment. Or maybe she wants to tell your whole family all at once. A big reveal.”

Ron shook his head again. “That’s not how Hermione would handle something like that, trust me.”

“It fits, though. You said you two are having a lot of sex. Apparently an increase in libido can be a side effect. Are there others? Does she get sick unexpectedly? Are her boobs bigger? When was the last time she had her period?”

Ron buried his face in his hands. “We’re not having this conversation anymore.”

“She could very well be pregnant, that’s all I’m saying.”

“She’s on the potion,” Ron countered. “She takes it religiously.”

Vesper huffed. It was true that the potion was very reliable, more than contraceptive charms, mostly because the latter was easily forgotten in the heat of the moment.

“Well, I don’t know.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Ron said, lifting his head. “We’ve drifted way too far off the subject.” His look turned knowing, and Vesper gave him a small, guilty smile. “You understand what I expect from you, yes?”

She sighed. “Yes.”

“You won’t take things too far again? And if Dempsey says something inappropriate to you again, you’ll come to me, and let me handle it?”

“Yes.”

“I’ll make sure he understands if he crosses the line again he’s out. If he has any sense at all he’ll keep his mouth shut from now on.”

“You’re relying on him having sense,” Vesper pointed out.

“Yes,” Ron replied. “Don’t I sort of have to?”

Vesper remained silent, conceding the point.

“Very well, that’s all then,” said Ron. “Go back to the training room and tell Dempsey I’m ready for him on your way out, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks, Ron.”

He sighed but gave her a wry smile. “You’re bloody welcome.”

Dempsey was pacing the hall when Vesper stepped out of Ron’s office. She was glad to see that, if only because it occurred to her that he very well could have tried to listen at the door. Maybe Ron’s office had a silencing charm on it that Vesper wasn’t aware of, but it was all the better to see Dempsey had not overheard their conversation.

“Auror Weasley is ready for you,” she said neutrally to him.

He turned to look at her. “What did you say to him?”

“The truth,” she said simply. She tilted her head, goading him. “Does that scare you?”

“Nothing scares me,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “Just go in, Dempsey, and get it over with. It won’t be that bad.”

He frowned, looking confused. “Fine,” he said finally. And with that he disappeared through Ron’s office door.

Weekes was still supervising the dueling when Vesper returned to the training room. Three pairs of trainees were dueling now, with the rest observing while Weekes quizzed them on proper technique. Heads turned to look at Vesper when she entered and she saw a few of them exchange looks, but Ron’s assistant soon called their attention back again.

Vesper sidled up to Declan in what she hoped was an unobtrusive manner, and he glanced sideways at her.

“You’re still here,” he murmured.

“Yes. Barely.”

“I was worried. The look on Weasley’s face. I thought you were toast for sure.”

“Ross! Kemp! Pay attention!” Weekes snapped at them, and they both shut their mouths quickly. Vesper, for her part, wasn’t going to give her teachers any more reason to reprimand her. Only a few more weeks to go, and the training course would be finished. She was determined to graduate, and that meant making sure she didn’t screw up again.

Vesper and Declan were able to resume their conversation at the end of training, Declan clearly eager to hear the details of what Ron had said to both her and Dempsey. As they made their way to the locker room, Vesper filled him in.

When she was finished, he whistled. “You’re right. It was a close one.”

Vesper shrugged. “I shouldn’t have expected any different, I suppose. I was… stupid.”

Declan was eyeing her. “I know the things he says about you. He’s a pig.”

“Yeah, well, that’s not justification for doing what I did. I knew better. Ron has told me before to file a report if I felt Dempsey was out of line and I never did. I didn’t want the mess. I thought I could handle it myself, put him in his place.”

“Well, you certainly did that,” Declan said. “I quite enjoyed the show.”

Vesper smirked, in spite of herself. “I can’t do it again though, or I’ll be kicked out. I’ve got to be careful.”

“But he gave Dempsey a talking to as well, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So at least hopefully he’ll back off.”

“Let’s hope so.”

“If he doesn’t, you tell Weasley.”

“Or maybe just track him down _outside_ of the Ministry and teach him a lesson then. Something he never sees coming.”

Declan’s eyes widened. “You’re terrifying, you know that?”

Vesper laughed. “I’m only kidding.”

He raised one eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she insisted.

He leaned in a little. “Too bad,” he said softly. “I happen to _like_ how terrifying you are.”

Vesper felt her face flush. “Then I’ll continue to be terrifying,” she riposted. “But I refuse to be stupid.”

He considered that. “Yes,” he said finally. “That would be for the best.”

“So, I ignore Dempsey. He doesn’t exist. Where he stands is just a void in space to me. When he talks, all I hear is a mild buzzing.”

“You really think you can do that?”

Vesper sighed, then shrugged. “I’ll do what I have to. I’ve worked too hard, right?”

He nodded. “It would be a real shame to let a slug like Dempsey ruin it for you.”

“I agree.” She looked around. They were alone by now. It was the end of the day, and she was ready to head home. “I should change.”

“Have dinner with me,” Declan said suddenly.

She turned back to him, her stomach lurching, though not unpleasantly. “Dinner? When?”

“Tomorrow night. Just you and me, wherever you want.”

She looked up at him: his warm, dark eyes, surrounded by crow’s feet, his small, soft smile. “Sure. But you pick the place. Just nothing too fancy. Low-key. Casual.”

“All right. What time?”

She did some quick calculating in her head. “Pick me up at my house at seven. We’ll go from there.”

“Great, it’s a date.”

“Yes,” she said, her heart thumping heavy and wild in her chest. “It is.”

***

When Vesper returned home that night, feeling strange and floaty, she went through the motions of preparing dinner: grilled chicken, rice, and vegetables, something simple she didn’t have to think much about. Her mind was on Declan, how easy it was to talk to him, share things with him, just… _be_ with him.

She had been resisting the development of their relationship, or, at least, hoping it would move at a pace that resembled that of molasses, or maybe a glacier. But, instead, things seemed to be moving right along, not barreling, exactly, not careening out of control or anything, but progressing forward, one steady step at a time.

This was as much her doing as Declan’s, though he wasn’t helping matters. Because he was just so warm, and open, and easy. In the moment it was always just a simple matter of saying “yes,” and that was such a simple thing to say. It was only later, when she was alone, that the doubts started to creep in. They belonged to her, and her alone, of course, having very little to do with Declan and everything to do with everything else.

In order to relax and take her mind off things, Vesper curled up on her her sofa with a blanket to read a book. She was currently working her way through all the major works of Kurt Vonnegut, though it was slow-going because she didn’t have much time or energy to read anymore. She found her current endeavor, _Cat’s Cradle_ , to be a very effective distraction, however, because it was about nothing that resembled her life at all, and made her feel simultaneously nihilistic and giddy in a way she wasn’t used to.

But only a few pages in she was interrupted by an owl tapping at her window, and as she looked up at it her heart sank. She recognized the gray eagle owl immediately.

Blaise’s owl, Tryphena.

With a heavy sigh she let the bird in, and the owl hooted softly at her in greeting and recognition.

“Hey, girl,” she said, giving the feathers atop her head a light stroke. “You have a letter for me?” She’d always liked Tryphena. She was well-trained, patient, and even a little sweet (or, as capable as a bird was of being sweet, at any rate).

The owl held out her leg and Vesper removed the letter, which had been folded elaborately into the shape of a star (unsurprising, given Blaise’s penchant for that sort of thing; he spent as much time on folding his letters as he did on writing the letter itself, it seemed to her). She was going to offer Tryphena a treat, but the owl simply hooted again in goodbye and took off out the window.

So, apparently Blaise wasn’t expecting an immediate response. Vesper couldn’t help but think that that didn’t bode well. She opened the letter.

_Dear Vesper,_

_I’ve rewritten this letter about a dozen times, I think, but this is the last one, I’ve decided. There may just be no perfect way to lay this all out. I just have to accept it. Because what it comes down to is that there are so many things I want to say that I don’t know where to begin. And, even more so, I don’t know if you want to hear them. I had thought perhaps our encounters, such as they were, were putting us on a path towards reconciliation, but I can see now that that was naïve on my part. Please don’t think that I blame you. I don’t. I came to you most of the time, and I never told you why. And we never spoke about what we were. I couldn’t bring myself to. I don’t know why. I suppose I was afraid._

_But it’s clear to me now that we will not slip back easily into something naturally as I had hoped. The conclusion that I’ve come to is that the only way through this is to face what happened head on. We need to talk about the things that we have been avoiding for months now, the things we have been avoiding since before the breakup, even. It might not be pleasant, but it is the only way forward._

_I don’t know if you are even willing at this point to have this sort of conversation with me. I can only tell you that I am willing. I am more than willing. I very much hope for it, no matter how painful it will be. Whatever keeps me from losing you._

_All I ask at this point is that you take some time and consider it. You may reply whenever you’re ready. I will wait._

_Yours, always,_

_Blaise_

Vesper, unable to truly absorb the full letter the first time around, read the thing three times more, finally letting herself take it in.

 _Reconciliation_.

If the matter hadn’t been so serious and emotionally fraught she would have snorted in amusement. Of course Blaise would use that word rather than say the more colloquial “get back together.” This whole letter was so very _Blaise_ , in fact, from the slightly formal, yet still warm, language to the stark admissions that left him nothing but vulnerable to however she chose to respond. There was so much of Blaise in it, even the reference to his being naïve, which he was aware he could be when it came to love. It had surprised her in the early days, because he seemed so savvy and shrewd in pretty much everything else. But when it came to matters of the heart, he was, in fact, naïve, inexperienced, and unsure, in the sweetest possible way.

What a great deal of effort and, more importantly, courage, it must have taken to write this. She closed her eyes in gratitude for a moment at the thought of it. She realized she was pressing the letter to her chest, as if she were cradling his head against her heart.

She used to do that, not so long ago.

She could again.

_But is that what I want? Is that what’s best for me?_

She looked down at the letter again. It was bad timing, considering she just accepted an invitation to what she was sure was intended to be her first romantic outing with Declan, the first step towards something more than friendship. It had been easy, exciting, to accept such an invitation. She wanted to see where it would go.

But the letter could not be ignored. It lived in her already; she could feel it settling into the space between her ribs. She could feel it with every inhale and exhale of her breath.

Blaise had given her time, and that was a gift she had intended to accept. She would need time, before she could decide what to do. It wasn’t just about seeing where things would go with Declan either. Even if he wasn’t in the picture, Vesper could not be sure she was prepared to have the kind of conversation Blaise was talking about. It would be, as Blaise had readily admitted, painful.

Vesper was not one to avoid pain at all costs. Pain, in fact, could be a good thing. It made you stronger. All her dueling training had taught her that.

But she would also not endure pain and trial simply for the sake of it. She was no masochist. There had to be a _reason_ , and the reason had to be damn good.

It had to be worth it.

***

All through the following day, whenever there was a spare moment for her mind to drift, Vesper thought of Blaise. She couldn’t help it. His letter was still sitting conspicuously on her kitchen table where she had left it that morning. It was likely now a little grease-stained from the bacon she had been eating while she reread it again over breakfast.

Every time she read it she felt differently about it. The night before it had struck her powerfully, and she’d had a taste of hope, a glimmer of what could be. But she’d also been afraid and unsure of her own ability to meet Blaise’s expectations. By the sober light of morning she’d gone sour on it a little, feeling it lacked the prerequisite amount of feeling to be a _true_ love letter. Once she’d had her coffee, she felt more warmly towards it again, certain phrases jumping out at her and making her heart stutter.

_Whatever keeps me from losing you._

_I will wait._

_Yours, always._

No, it was hardly bursting with excessive adoration or rhapsodies of the depth of his love, but this was Blaise. She would hardly expect it to be.

Coming from Blaise, it was plenty. When you loved a man like him, you learned to read below the surface of things.

Still, her mind was definitely spending a bit _too_ much time on it, considering she had a date with Declan that very night. Luckily, Auror training kept her busy most of the day, and whenever she found herself thinking of Blaise and the letter again, she always had something important in front of her to pull her focus back to.

When she arrived home to get ready for dinner, however, she found it was hard to help the direction of her thoughts. Even as she showered and got ready for her date, she couldn’t help but think back to a different first date over four years ago.

Not that it could really be considered a date, in the strictest sense. Blaise had not _asked_ to attend the Hogwarts graduation after party with her (in fact, she had been asked by a different guy she was seeing at the time, a fact she still felt mildly guilty about, though Anthony had forgiven her long ago). In fact, she and Blaise had had no real communication at all, up to that point, other than a single ten-minute conversation one night in a bar. But, thanks to Harry, she knew Blaise was interested, and when she’d actually arrived at the party, it didn’t take long to gauge that interest for herself and find it quite higher than she expected.

She'd liked Blaise from the start, especially his voice, the way he talked: dry and flat, but also clear. And the words themselves, the things he would say, were so direct, and yet somehow subtle at the same time. She found herself drawn in by him, how he saw things in a way that was so unlike herself and all the more interesting for it. Blaise was not afraid to have the minority opinion on anything. If he believed something, he would continue to believe it whether or not everyone around him disagreed. He had the courage of his convictions, but he was not rigid. He listened, quite closely in fact. He listened to every word that came out of her mouth.

They’d talked long hours; most of the guests had left and the 7th and 8th years had gone off to bed. But they remained on a sofa in the common room until after two in the morning, close, intimate, without actually touching. Vesper had sensed there was a kind of barrier there, that first night, but not out of a lack of desire. If she were to call it anything, it would be _propriety_ , although at the time the idea seemed absurd. It was nearly the twenty-first century, and that couldn’t possibly be a concern anymore. By the end of the night, though, she understood that that was simply Blaise’s way.

She had eventually decided it was time to go home. Blaise was kind enough to offer her his room, since it was so late, claiming he could easily find another empty room from one of his friends, since there were so many couples paired off and sleeping in each other’s beds. Vesper had appreciated the gesture but declined, not wanting to put anyone out and truly wanting to go home to Aurelian’s and the familiarity of her room there.

“In that case,” Blaise had said. “At least let me walk you to Hogsmeade, give you some company.”

She had smiled. “I can take quite good care of myself, you know,” she said. “And I don’t think there will be anyone lurking to try and ambush me anyway.”

“I know that you can take care of yourself,” he had replied. “I just want to spend more time with you.”

She had blushed at that, in spite of herself. Vesper was flirtatious and overly honest about her feelings, she had often been told, but Blaise was a different kind of honest, and she found she liked it.

“In that case, sure.”

They’d talked more on the walk. Vesper didn’t even remember now all that they said to each other. It was likely not particularly important, just whatever came to mind. They simply seemed to like to hear each other speak.

When they arrived at the gate to Hogsmeade, Vesper had suspected that Blaise might try and kiss her. He’d walked her all this way, after all, and he’d made his intentions very clear. But he surprised her yet again. She did receive a kiss, but it was a soft, chaste one to the knuckles of her right hand. Still, it had been nice. It made her shiver pleasantly, even through her confusion.

“I would very much like to see you again,” Blaise said then, his voice low, clear, and sincere. “Can I owl you?”

“I would like that,” she had replied, meaning it. The whole business with almost-touching and the walking and the kissing of the hand all seemed very Austenian, and she wasn’t sure how she felt about that. But _him_ … well, she liked him a lot.

They’d had a real date not long after that, in which he took her for lunch and then to walk around in one of his favorite gardens. He’d kissed her for the first time under an apple tree that was in full bloom, the fragrance around them as sweet as the kiss itself. The Austen references just kept coming to mind, the way the whole thing felt so much more like courting than dating, but she was already adjusting. He was so pure and focused, so sure in all of it, that it was easy to forget that the rest felt a little old-fashioned.

And besides which, Blaise seemed to grow out of the need to “court” her after a month or two. She wasn’t sure if it was her influence, her unmistakable irreverence, or the fact that he had simply gotten comfortable with her, confident that she wasn’t going to turn him away.

As she went through the routine of drying her hair, picking out her outfit, and putting on a touch of makeup, visions of her relationship with Blaise continued to course through her, blending together but still punctuated with brief little snapshots in which she remembered just about every detail: seeking out Blaise’s face in the audience after her first major victory in the British National Dueling Competition, taking him to the movies for the first time, cooking with him in his kitchen while they listened to Frank Sinatra and drank marsala wine right out of the bottle, salsa dancing at a Muggle club until sweat dripped down their backs and their feet ached, and the first time they slept together. That night also happened to be the first time she’d truly made him laugh. Not just a soft chuckle or a single, dry bark, but a real laugh, rolling and delighted that came all the way from his gut. She’d never heard a more enchanting sound in her life, and only half an hour later had invited him into her bed.

She had been sure at that point; she had been waiting for it. But he was nervous, and so she had taken the reins, giving him pleasure, showing him how to pleasure her, until he finally forgot himself, got lost in it, and started acting on instinct. She had been happy, thrilled, to give herself over to him.

When, after the fact, he had confessed in a soft voice that that had been his first time, Vesper was hardly surprised. She had suspected as much. She didn’t say anything, only pulled him closer, putting her lips over his heart. She didn’t have to ask if he regretted it or if he had enjoyed himself. She already knew the answer to both questions.

 _Enough_ , she told herself now as she checked her mascara for smudges. She had indulged enough, and it was time to stop. Declan would be arriving soon, and it would just be out of line for her to be thinking about her ex while on a date with someone else.

That was all in the past, and Declan was her future, at least for the next few hours. After that, well… she’d just have to see how things unfolded.

***

Declan ended up taking her for pizza, which to Vesper seemed perfect. It all felt very low-pressure, like all the times they had been out before, and after getting over a small attack of nerves right at the beginning she was feeling quite relaxed.

“I always catch myself wondering how you know so much about Muggle food and drink, and other things,” she said to him as she grabbed another slice from the platter between them, “and then I remember that you’re Muggleborn. For some reason I keep forgetting.”

“That’s funny, because most people I know never do, even those who don’t care either way. Especially since the rest of my family is Muggle.”

“It’s a British, thing, I think. You guys treat the worlds as so separate. That’s not how it is in the States, not anymore, anyway. Most of us live pretty immersed in the no-maj world, or, at least, straddling it in some way.”

Declan took a sip of his beer. “What about secrecy? You don’t worry about that?”

Vesper shrugged. “Honestly, it’s not really an issue. It's not as hard to hide in plain sight as you all make it out to be. We have magic-only areas, obviously, places we can shop and eat that no-majs can’t access, but we don’t use them exclusively. We enjoy both.”

“Even purebloods?”

“Very few of us think about it in those terms. I'm not saying there aren't some exclusive circles where blood purity is still talked about and emphasized, but they're very rare. It hasn't been mainstream for a long time, probably because we're such a big country and the vast majority of magical people are of mixed blood. I don't remember hearing about blood purity much at Ilvermorny at all.”

Declan considered that. “I suppose over the years most of the witches and wizards who would consider themselves pureblood intermarried with Muggleborns and half-bloods, diluting their blood purity to the point where it no longer existed. Essentially what's happening here, only we're moving at a slower pace.”

Vesper couldn't help the laugh that escaped her.

“What?”

“Sorry, I was just thinking... It's just so much more pervasive here, that whole narrative. I forget sometimes, but I always get reminded. Even in the way you’re talking about it now, like blood purity is a real thing. The concept has been hammered into you for such a long time that you can’t let go of it. Even you, a Muggleborn, who surely knows by now that his magical abilities have nothing to do with his family of origin, is sitting here talking about intermarrying and blood dilution like it’s…” She leaned forward. “That’s the thing that always gets me about living here, about seeing what is valued. You all are obsessed, even now, with something that isn’t even real.”

“What’s not real?”

“Blood purity. You really think there is any difference between your actual blood, or, if you want to take the phrase more metaphorically, even, your magical core, and the blood or core of a so-called ‘pureblood?’ There isn’t. It’s completely made up. That a pureblood like Draco or Ron can trace their lineage back to ancient witches and wizards is just a matter of family history and ethnicity; it has nothing to do with magical power. And, in truth, all of you, regardless of blood status, can trace their family lines back to magical ancestry. For Muggleborns the magic had just skipped some generations. That’s the only difference.”

Declan sat back, thinking about that. “Yes, that’s true…”

“So why is it so important? That’s my question.”

“I don’t know. I suppose we like to distinguish ourselves in that way. It’s a part of personal identity. It… categorizes us.”

“But doesn’t it… doesn’t it affect you negatively sometimes? Do you start to believe the things that blood supremacists say about you?”

“Of course not,” he replied, indignant.

“Not even subconsciously?” she pressed. “I just think if I heard that all the time, at school, in the press, I would start to internalize it. I would start to… buy into it, without meaning to.”

Declan was quiet for a minute or two. “I’ve never thought about it that way before.”

“I just don’t see why so much time and energy is spent on it, that’s all. I think the individual, what they’ve done and what they’re doing in the world, is more important than what blood status they happen to have.”

He grinned. “You sound so very _American_ right now.”

She grinned back. “Thank you,”

“Oh, just hush up and eat your pizza,” he replied with a roll of his eyes. “You’ve given me a lot to think about, and now I have to think about it.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she said apologetically. “I'm not about to sit here and claim that the United States is perfect. We have plenty of other problems: racism, sexism, homophobia..."

"Mm," Declan said, nodding. "We have our fair share of that too."

"Sure. But I guess it feels like, in wizarding Britain anyway, that blood status is still the biggest source of discrimination. After all, you just fought a war about it only five years ago."

"It's all still very fresh for us," Declan agreed.

Vesper nodded. "Anyway, I wasn’t intending to go on a whole rant about it, I swear. But you know me… once I get going, I can’t always stop.”

“No, I’d hardly say holding back is one of your strong suits.”

She stuck her tongue out at him, but then returned to her pizza as instructed. “This is surprisingly good pizza, you know. I’m impressed.”

“I figured you’d enjoy it. I’m sure you know a thing or two about good pizza.”

This led to a whole conversation about ethnic foods in the US, what Vesper missed the most, and what foods she thought were better in the UK.

When they had finished their meal Declan pulled out some Muggle money to pay the bill and then made a suggestion for the second half of their date.

“There’s a great pub just ‘round the corner,” he said. “Care for a drink?”

“Sounds great. But I’m buying, since you got dinner.”

“Nice try, but that’s not how this works.”

“How what works? A night out? I think it’s only fair.”

“It’s a _date_ ,” he said pointedly. “And I asked you. That means I pay.”

Vesper blushed at the reminder. She’d almost forgotten.

She was fully aware of it now, though, as he took her hand as they walked down the street towards the pub. She was incredibly aware of it, the way his fingers felt entwined with hers. His hands were big, dry, and warm, and that was very nice. But it still felt… odd.

 _I’ll get used to it_ , she told herself. This was the first time she’d been out with anyone since Blaise, the first time she’d had any sort of intimate contact with anyone else in four years. Of course there would be a bit of an adjustment period.

***

The rest of the evening had passed enjoyably, Vesper decided as she and Declan made their way to the closest Apparition point. Declan had insisted he walk her right to her door, and Vesper hadn’t argued. She knew why he wanted to, and she was hardly going to stop him. He was just so… _nice_ , and funny, and smart, the perfect balance. He was a good conversationalist without being overly verbose, he could tease without being cruel, and he could joke and be goofy without having to make himself the center of attention. On top of that, he was good looking, though not intimidatingly so, like Draco was, for example. And she preferred it that way. It was like she had special-ordered him somehow, ticking off all the boxes of what she liked, but he still had something extra mixed in as well, a capacity to surprise her.

They’d spent a few of hours at the bar drinking slowly and talking nonstop: about their families, their schooling, their friends, Auror training, blood status (again), books, music, television, everything. It was when Vesper started to yawn that Declan suggested they call it a night, if only to make sure Vesper got plenty of rest after a long day. She'd appreciated that, although part of her wanted to suggest that they keep at it for a little while longer. She liked being with him, and she didn’t want it to end.

 _All good signs,_ she thought as they Apparated to the front gate of her house. Declan opened the gate for her and she thanked him before walking through it, with him not far behind.

“So,” he said when they’d arrived on her stoop.

“So,” she replied. They’d been here before, in this moment of questioning. _Will he or won’t he?_ Only this time it really was a date, and she was ready. “I’m glad we did this. I had a lot of fun.”

“Me too.”

“I always have fun with you.”

“Good,” Declan said, smiling softly. “Because I want to spend more time with you. A lot more time.”

She couldn’t help but smile too. “Is this your way of asking me out on a second date?”

“It might be.”

“Asking me for a second date before the first one is even finished… that’s not exactly playing it cool, you know,” she teased.

“Mm, well ‘playing it cool’ was never really my thing anyway.”

“Good.”

“Besides, it’s basically the end of the first date, so I’m only a few minutes off.”

“It might be, but you are missing one crucial piece.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

She rolled her eyes, fighting a smile. “If you have to ask, then you’re not as good at this as I thought.”

He huffed a nervous laugh, and that small sound signaled to Vesper that he was a lot less self-assured than he seemed, somehow making him even more perfect than before. “I wasn’t sure if…” He looked down at her, meeting her eyes, and they remained that way for a couple of seconds. “Oh, to hell with it.” He leaned forward, pressing his lips against hers.

Vesper, having anticipated this, was fully ready to kiss back, and kiss back she did. She didn’t put her whole body into it yet though, choosing to read his cues. Despite the rather rapid approach he had begun the kiss chastely, softly, letting it build in pressure, feeling her out, her response, before he flicked his tongue out to taste her. Vesper parted her lips and welcomed him, enjoying his technique. The man could kiss. He seemed to understand instinctively that force did not equal passion, and so was not aggressive. He didn’t overuse his tongue or his teeth, and though he controlled the kiss, he acted in tandem with her, letting it all unfold naturally.

They broke apart to catch their breath after a minute, and Vesper realized that she was aware of everything: her swollen lips, his hand resting gently on her waist, their shared breath mingling warm in the air. She was maybe a bit _too_ aware. The kiss had been really nice, something she would gladly do again, but she had not completely lost herself.

 _Give yourself time_ , she told herself. _Stop being so impatient._

“I really like you,” she found herself saying. “I want to see where this goes. But I also… I need to take it slow. I hope that’s ok.”

He nodded, his forehead still resting against hers. “Of course. I get it. I know you… went through a bad breakup recently.”

She snorted delicately, surprised he would bring it up. “Not so recent, really. Five months ago. But you’re the first guy I’ve dated since then. The first guy I’ve _wanted_ to date. I wasn’t even planning on… but, like I said, I really like you, so… here we are.” Maybe she was doing this all wrong, admitting this, but Declan only smiled down at her.

“I’m honored, then,” he said.

She searched his eyes for any insincerity and found none. “I’m glad,” she said. “It means I’ll be getting that second date after all.”

“Oh you definitely will.”

She laughed. “Maybe you’ll let me plan this one.”

“Nope, not a chance. I’ve already got some ideas. Maybe the third one, if you’re lucky.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“I said _maybe_.”

She laughed again, and he leaned down to capture her lips with his. This time she took a little more control, pressing herself against him and running her hands along his back. He hummed against her lips, seeming to like that, and her insides clenched in pleasure at the sound.

 _See?_ one of her internal voices said. _You’re getting the hang of it._

She could want someone else, someone other than Blaise. She was capable, and what a relief that was.

After a few more kisses and a whispered “Goodnight” from both of them, Vesper went inside, her heart pounding and her whole body feeling flushed. There was just no denying it. The evening had been a success.

She walked into her kitchen, seeing Blaise’s letter on the table where she had left it. She picked it up, looking at it without reading it. She already had it memorized by now anyway.

Without further thought she folded it, not into the star shape like Blaise had, but tri-folded, so that it looked just like any other letter she might receive. With the folded letter in hand she went into her study, opening the middle drawer of her desk. She placed it inside, among the few other papers that were piled there, and it blended right in. She closed the drawer.

 _Out of sight, out of mind_.


	14. Day Too Soon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to those who have been commenting and providing feedback! I know that last chapter was challenging, and I really appreciated that those of you who had notes for me shared your thoughts with kindness. It makes all the difference to me.
> 
> This one is pretty short and sweet. We're just spending some time with Draco on shift, and we get to see Andromeda again too! Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Sending love to all out there who are having a hard time right now. I myself have been trying to stay positive while managing all of this anxiety I'm feeling. Easier said than done, some days. My heart is with you <333

(Draco)

Draco couldn’t stop staring at the dryness of his aunt’s lips. He kept licking his own in response, as if this could alleviate it, but, of course, it did nothing.

“You’re sure you don’t want some water, ‘Dromeda?” he asked her. “Or some juice, maybe?”

She clutched his hand and gave him a wan smile. “I know you want to help, my love. But really, I’m fine.”

“I worry that you’re dehydrated.”

“I am, probably,” she admitted, adjusting herself in the hospital bed. “But I just can’t stomach it right now.”

“Not even water?” Draco was fully aware that he was nagging, but he couldn’t let it go.

“Not even water,” she echoed. “It will be all right. I’ll try to drink some after.”

“You’ll be tired after,” he reminded her. She’d already done one round of Regeneration Charms a month ago, and she knew now how completely draining they were.

“Yes, but my potions will likely have settled a bit by then, and that means my nausea will have as well.”

Draco sighed but said nothing. He had to remember that Andromeda was the one going through this, not him. She knew her own body and how she was feeling better than he could, and she had Healers specializing in this disease who were looking out for her. Still, he was concerned about her hydration and nutrition both. She already looked much thinner now than she had been when she was diagnosed. That was to be expected, of course, but it still upset him. He didn’t like to think about how little she managed to eat and drink now that she was taking such a vicious regimen of potions. For her to truly improve, she needed to be strong, properly fed.

“Look at that mind of yours at work,” she said lovingly to him, reaching out and running fingers softly across his temple. “Worrying away, no doubt.”

“I can’t help it,” he told her, smiling softly.

“I know.”

The team of Healers came in then, signaling that the treatment would begin in just a few minutes. Andromeda took Draco’s hand again and clutched it tight, indicating that she was more nervous than she was letting on. She’d done this before, but it didn’t make the process any more pleasant, knowing what was coming,

The Regeneration Charms were so intense that they weren’t just hard on the patient; they were hard on the Healers as well. They required a lot of power and focus, as the chanting of the incantations had to be uninterrupted for many minutes at a time to be at all effective. Most Healers could only go for a few minutes before they were in need of a break, hence why the treatment required a whole team that could rotate who performed the charms and give everyone a chance to rest and recharge. Draco had never performed the charms on a real patient before, as it was magic above his current year, but he had heard tales of Healers going for too long without a break and losing consciousness. It was hard to imagine that a mere charm could be so draining on one’s magic.

All three members of the team nodded at Draco, acknowledging him. He recognized them all as fourth year residents working under Kipling’s service, and all, as far as he had heard, very good Healers.

“All right, Andromeda,” Healer Wofford, a slim, sandy-haired witch, said with a warm smile. “Are you ready to begin?”

Andromeda nodded and closed her eyes. Her hand squeezed Draco’s once, and he squeezed back.

Healer Wofford sat down next to the bed, pulled out her wand, and began tracing it through the air above Andromeda’s body in a series of circles and figure eights. Then she began the incantation, a rhythmic murmuring so soft it was almost inaudible. After a few seconds the silver magic of the charms began to seep out of the tip of her wand, swirling like glittery steam above a cauldron before starting to sink and be absorbed by Andromeda’s body.

At the first touch of magic through her thin hospital gown Draco heard Andromeda breathe deeply, and her grip on him loosened a little.

They remained silent for a few minutes, Wofford’s chanting the only sound in the room, until she signaled for replacement and another Healer, a tall and lanky black wizard with short, tight dreadlocks, took over. His chanting was deeper, but still soft, and mildly hypnotic.

“You know what I was thinking about the other day?” Andromeda said very quietly, turning her head towards Draco.

“What were you thinking about?” He leaned down to better hear her. The Healers didn’t mind if they talked during the procedure, so long as they kept it quiet so as not to disrupt the caster’s concentration.

“There was one summer, when you were very small, when your father was travelling quite a bit, and so your mother felt more free to come by for visits. You couldn’t have been older than four, I would say. I remember Dora was eleven, because she was about to go off to Hogwarts.”

“Well, we were seven years apart, so that sounds about right,” said Draco. “I would have just turned four.”

Andromeda nodded. “You probably don’t remember it, but your mum brought you around once every couple of weeks that summer. I remember you riding your little toy broom, and wanting to be read to from all of Dora’s old children’s books, and running around in the backyard.”

Draco thought back, straining to remember. Now that he thought about it, he had a few fuzzy memories of Andromeda’s old house, which had been small, cozy. He remembered wondering why they didn’t have any house elves, and why his cousin’s room was just one room, instead of a whole suite with a bedroom, bathroom, and playroom, like he had. He also remembered, vaguely, playing on the floor while his mother and Andromeda sat side by side on the sofa, talking in rushed but quiet murmurs.

“I remember a bit,” he said. “But only in flashes.”

Andromeda nodded slowly. “Well there was once, towards the end of the summer, when Dora was playing with you and showing off her Metamorphmagus abilities. You _loved_ that, especially when she would make funny faces. You laughed and laughed…” She smiled wistfully. “But you were also a bit jealous. You wanted to be able to do what she could do. For whatever reason you were especially envious of the pink hair – she had already adopted that as her favorite, you see – and you begged her to turn your hair pink. But she told you she couldn’t, that she could only do it to herself. And so you decided you were going to do it to yourself too.”

Draco chuckled. “I don’t remember this at all.”

“Well, you were quite determined. So determined, in fact, that you actually accomplished it. It wasn’t the bright fuchsia color that Dora always wore but it was pink… more like a rose color, I suppose.”

Draco was laughing in earnest. “I must have been concentrating quite hard.”

“Oh, yes,” Andromeda agreed. “And your mother… well, at first she thought it was amusing, and she let you carry on with it that color hair for the rest of the afternoon. But then, when it was time for you to go home, you refused to change it back. You insisted that you wanted to have pink hair forever. She practically begged you, and you know Narcissa Malfoy never begs for anything.”

“Why didn’t she just wave her wand and change it back to normal?”

“She _tried_. It didn’t work. That’s how determined you were to have pink hair.” She smirked, but it faded quickly. “Your mother was very upset about it. I suppose she was worried that your father would see it and know that she’d been visiting me, somehow. Or at least have disapproved of the unnatural color.”

“She kept it a secret? The visits?”

“Yes. She had no choice. Your father…” She trailed off, eyeing Draco carefully.

“It’s all right, Aunt. I know better than most what a bastard he was.”

To his surprise, Andromeda gave him a look. “Now, now, Draco. Is that any way to speak about your own father?”

Draco shrugged. “Am I wrong?”

She considered that. “It’s oversimplifying it a bit, I think. Your father is a product of his environment and his upbringing. Abraxas Malfoy was…” She visibly shivered, and whether that was from the memory of Draco’s grandfather or the Regeneration Charms working away, Draco didn’t know. “He was a cold, cruel man. He had high standards and a short temper. My understanding was that he beat your father for any transgression or mistake, no matter how small, up until Lucius left for Hogwarts. By that point Lucius had learned to be exactly what his father expected him to be. Anything else was simply unthinkable.”

Draco absorbed that. He knew some of this already, at least that Abraxas had brought up Lucius in much the same way that Lucius had brought up Draco, but he hadn’t realized that there was violence involved. His mother had never told him that. He swallowed. “That’s upsetting to hear,” he said. “But still, it’s no excuse. He may have been less cruel to me than his father was to him, but he was still cruel, and cold. And he didn’t _have_ to be. He could have chosen to raise me differently. He _should_ have, considering he knew what that felt like. I’m certainly not going to treat my children like that, just because he did it to me. Because I have a choice.”

“Yes, but you’re also stronger than he is,” Andromeda said softly, reminding Draco to keep his voice low. Draco murmured an apology and leaned in close again. “You have determination, a _will_ , that your father has never had. A will so strong that at four years old you were already choosing what you wanted to be, in spite of what others wanted or said was impossible. And look at you now; look at what you’ve done. With Voldemort in control of your family, living under your roof, you still managed to survive _and_ keep your parents alive as well. And out of that you didn’t just keep surviving, you started _living_. You went back to Hogwarts to finish your education, even when you knew you might face social ridicule, you became a Healer, you reunited your family after years of separation, and you found someone to love, to build a life with, someone who no one would ever have expected you to choose. But you don’t care about that, about what other people say or expect. ‘To hell with them,’ you say. You do it anyway.”

Draco smiled at her softly. “You’re painting a very nice picture,” he said. “But you’re not accounting for the fact that a lot of that was just luck.”

“Perhaps surviving the war, to some extent,” she conceded. “But the rest, all that you’ve accomplished…”

“Finishing at Hogwarts, becoming a Healer, sure, but that was easy…” Andromeda raised an eyebrow. “I mean, not _easy_. It required work. But it wasn’t… complicated. I just did what I had to do.”

“And Harry?”

“Now _that_ was luck.”

She laughed delicately. “I don’t think so.”

“You think he fell in love with me simply because I _willed_ it to be so?”

“Again, dear nephew, you’re oversimplifying,” she said warmly. “It’s true that the right set of circumstances had to conspire to get you two together, but you also had to _want_ it, or it never would have happened. And, more importantly, once you had him, you made sure to make it the best it could possibly be. You made sure to keep him.”

“Of course,” Draco replied, indignant, and had to remember to lower his voice again. “No one captures the heart of Harry bloody Potter and lets that slip away.”

“ _You_ didn’t. But you’re not just anybody.”

Draco sighed. “I can see we’re just going to have different perspectives on this.”

“I _did_ have a point in saying all this you know, if you would quit arguing so much,” she said, her eyes twinkling.

“Oh, yes? And what would that be?”

“Your father had, on the surface of things, everything that a man needs to be successful: money, prestige, charisma, intelligence… life should have been easy, comfortable. But he had no…” She paused, thinking. “No backbone. I don’t mean in a courage sense, just in a… he had nothing to hold him upright. He had no true sense of self, what made him who he was beyond his name and his money and his place in wizarding society. And that made him weak, flimsy, easy to sway. He bowed in whatever direction in the wind was blowing at any given time. _That’s_ what made him cozy up to a wizard like Voldemort, to somehow be willing to put his family in danger, and for what? What did he think he would gain? The answer is lost on me.”

“He was pragmatic,” Draco said. “He went with what would best suit him at the time.”

“Exactly. But pure pragmatism like that, without _principles_ , without somewhere to draw the line… He should have considered his family, his wife, his _child_. He should have considered what was right. But he didn’t. He did whatever would make his life easier, whatever meant the least amount of work.”

“You’re saying he was lazy.” For all her talk about how Draco shouldn’t say hateful things about his father, she sure was saying plenty about Lucius herself.

“I’m _saying_ look where it got him. Twenty years in Azkaban. Never mind that the Dementors are gone and quality of life for prisoners is much better now. It’s still twenty years inside a cell, hardly ever seeing anyone besides the Aurors that guard him. He doesn’t get to enjoy all the things he thought made his life worth living: his money, his manor. His wife left him, his son hates him, his name is disgraced.”

“You’re talking to me like I don’t know this full well. That’s what I’m saying. I choose to be different.”

“ _Yes_ ,” she said. “Exactly. You have, or are on your way to having, everything, that your father _should_ have wanted, if he’d had any sense of healthy priorities at all. You have a beautiful, rich, meaningful life. And he has fifteen more years of nothingness. And to me, that’s quite sad. All I feel for Lucius at this point is pity.”

“You think that I should feel sorry for my father?”

“It would be a lot healthier than carrying around all the anger that you do. ” She rubbed his hand with hers soothingly. “I’m not saying you don’t have a right to be angry, I’m simply saying you have a choice. You could do it for yourself, if not for him. That sort of thing wears on a person, you know, over time.”

“I don’t carry around a lot of anger,” Draco said. “It’s more indifference than anything.”

She looked at him carefully, and Draco knew there was skepticism hidden in there somewhere. Still, he stared back at her, almost defiant.

“Only you can know what’s in your heart, Draco,” she said finally. “It’s just something to think about, is all.”

Draco nodded, momentarily wondering where all this was coming from. But it was only a moment before he remembered. Andromeda was behaving like a person with a terminal illness often behaves, because that was what she _was_. Draco was struck by the thought. He’d nearly forgotten why they were here in the first place.

“There’s going to be a lot of this, isn’t there?” he said with a soft smile, trying to lighten the mood, as well as his own sad thoughts. “You giving me sage advice that I didn’t ask for?”

She chuckled. “Yes, so get used to it. And tell Harry, too.”

Draco laughed as well. They slipped into a comfortable silence, Draco, for his part, letting himself become lulled by the soft chanting of the Healer beside them. Andromeda closed her eyes and seemed to drift, and Draco turned his head to look at the clock. Yes, it had been nearly half an hour already, meaning the first round of treatment for the day was about to come to a close. It was no wonder that Andromeda was growing tired.

Sure enough, only a minute later the chanting stopped, and Draco looked upon the haggard appearances of the three Healers.

“That’s round one,” Wofford said to him. “We’ll give her an hour to rest, then return for round two. Your Mediwizard will be in soon to check on you.”

Draco nodded, not pointing out to them that _they_ needed the rest as much as Andromeda did, after all the magic they had expended. That was simply understood.

When they’d gone, Draco continued to sit, watching as his Aunt slipped into a doze. He knew he would have to leave soon. He was on shift, actually, and had received special dispensation from Iwu for this precious half hour. But he would have to return to work, especially since Mila Gonzalez was coming in for her next appointment.

He squeezed Andromeda’s hand lightly and murmured her name until she stirred.

“I’m sorry,” he said, once he believed she was cognizant enough to understand him. “I have to go back to work. I wish I could stay, but I’m not allowed.”

It took her a moment, but Andromeda nodded. “That’s all right, love,” she said. “I know you’re a busy man.”

“Every spare minute I have, I’ll use to come check on you,” he promised. Andromeda would be in the hospital for a few days after the treatment was finished, simply because it was so hard on the body. Draco would have ample opportunity to see her again before his forty-eight hour shift was over.

Andromeda would have replied, he was sure, only she’d already drifted off again. He sighed a small sigh, squeezed her hand gently once more, and left the room.

It was time to return to work, and Draco could already feel his brain adjusting back into the mindset of Healer rather than Nephew. He had to have his wits about him for the appointment with Mila.

Hannah flagged him down on the way to the exam rooms.

“Have you had lunch yet?” she asked him. “I was about to go on my break. Care to join me?”

“I can’t,” Draco said, disappointed. “I’ve an appointment with a patient. An important one.”

Hannah pouted. “This has to stop, you know, all this missing each other. I feel like we haven’t talked properly in ages.”

“I know,” Draco agreed. “It’s because when I’m not here, I’m home helping Harry with Teddy.”

“Yes, of course,” said Hannah. “But we have to find time for drinks, we really do. The two of us, and Pansy as well. I have loads to tell you all and I need your advice.”

Draco had to admit his curiosity was piqued. “Well, you know how much I love to give advice,” he said, smirking. “And you know I want to hear all about it. But if it’s urgent perhaps you should go ahead and talk to Pansy at least. She’ll be easier to arrange something with than I am at the moment.”

“But I need the both of you or it won’t work,” Hannah argued. “You balance each other out and help me see both sides. She’s the cold pragmatist and you’re the hopeless romantic.”

Draco snorted. “Hopeless romantic? I hardly think so. I like to think I’m rather sensible and realistic. Not a _romantic_.”

Hannah grinned. “Perhaps in most things, yes. But when it comes to matters of the heart… well…”

“I see, so this has to do with Longbottom then.”

“Yes, it has.”

“Break up with him,” he said simply. She was probably better off without him anyway.

“Draco!” she admonished.

Draco smiled devilishly. “I think you’ll find that Pansy and I might be in agreement on this. So, no long discussion needed.”

“I disagree. You haven’t even heard my dilemma yet!”

“Yes, I know,” he said, placating her. “I’m only joking. We’ll make time soon.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Draco checked his watch. “Bugger, I really do have to go. Sorry, Han.”

“It’s all right. I know better than anyone it’s this blasted job, don’t I?”

“And now I have a child,” Draco said.

“Yes, indeed. I don’t know how you do it.”

Draco smiled softly. “I have Harry.”

She grinned in return. “You see, there’s that romantic side I was talking about.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “I’m leaving you now. No more talk of this romantic business, you understand?” He turned to go.

“ _Hopeless_ romantic!” Hannah called after him as he made his way down the hall, laughter in her voice. “Absolutely hopeless!”

Draco was fighting a smile as he approached the exam rooms, and he had to pause a moment to put a more professional expression on his face. He knocked twice and then entered to find that Mila was not alone. There was a Mediwitch as well, who was taking Mila’s vitals, performing charms to determine her temperature, heart rate, and blood pressure. Madam Lorenz was there was well, sitting in a chair in the corner and watching the procedures impassively.

“Good afternoon,” Draco told the room.

“Good afternoon, Healer Malfoy,” Lorenz replied, nodding to him. “I hope you are well.”

“Very well, thank you.” He turned to Mila, who was hunched over a bit as usual on the exam table, staring at her shoes. “And how are you, Mila?” he asked her.

She glanced up at him. “Fine.”

“Any nausea? Or has it gotten better?”

“Some,” she said. “But it’s not that bad.”

“She only becomes truly ill around certain foods,” Lorenz chimed in. “Doesn’t like the smell.”

“That’s very common,” Draco said.

“But she is eating,” Lorenz informed him. “I’ve seen to it myself. And the we’ve been following the potion regimen exactly.”

“Excellent,” said Draco. He knew Lorenz could be counted on for that sort of thing. And Mila certainly looked better, healthier, than she had the last time he saw her. She was no longer stick-thin, but rather just very petite. There was more color in her face and even her long, wavy brown hair seemed shinier. That meant the nutrient potions were working.

“I’m just finishing up, Healer Malfoy,” the Mediwitch told him. She was one of his favorites, in fact: efficient and competent, but also with a knack for putting her patients at ease. She handed him the chart with the results of the charms already recorded. He was pleased to see that Mila had gained over half a stone since he’d last seen her. This was definitely progress.

“Thank you, Haversham,” he said to the Mediwitch.

“I’ll just be at the MediStation if you need anything,” she told him. “Good to see you again, Mila.”

Mila smiled and thanked her, which, for her, was quite a compliment. Draco reminded himself to request Kim Haversham as the Mediwitch to assist with all of Mila’s exams. The more comfortable his patient felt, the better. He turned his attention back to the young woman in front of him.

“This looks quite promising, Mila,” he told her. “I can tell you’ve been following my instructions. But let’s check on the baby, shall we? We can do our first scan today.”

Mila nodded, lying down and lifting her shirt to expose her stomach. Draco glanced briefly at Lorenz, wondering if Mila would be more comfortable without her there. But, as the girl had said nothing, and seemed to mostly be ignoring the woman, Draco left it alone and instead pulled out his wand to cast the necessary charms.

The first charm was to try and find the fetal heartbeat. It was a tricky one, because the fetus was still so small at that point and the charm required a certain amount of accuracy. So Draco was quite pleased when he got it on the first try.

“There it is,” Draco said as the rhythmic, otherworldly sound filled the room, magnified by the charm. “That’s your baby’s heart beating.”

“It's fast,” Mila noted.

“Yes, it is. It’s supposed to be faster than yours or mine, although I will say this heart rate is a bit on the high side as it is.” Draco considered silently what could be causing it, whether it had something to do with Mila’s wayward magic, or if it was simply that Mila was under stress and this was carrying over to the child. He would have to ask Iwu’s advice, see what she thought. “Next let’s see if we can get a picture.”

He hovered his wand over Mila’s abdomen, concentrating. A projection appeared suddenly in the air in front of them, showing the internal scan of Mila’s uterus. The picture wasn’t great, of course, and neither Mila nor Lorenz would likely know what they were looking at. Luckily reading pregnancy scans was another thing he had been practicing.

“Let’s see here…” he said, gliding his wand across her navel. “Ah, there it is.” He pointed to the small, bean-shaped presence there among the black and white fuzz of the image. “That’s your baby. See, there, you can actually make out his or her little arms.” He pointed to them. Like with the heartbeat charm, the scan magnified the image, making the fetus appear larger and easier to see than it actually was. “And…” he went on, adjusting his wand a little, “there’s one of the legs.”

He turned to look at Mila to see that she was staring at the image with wide eyes. Draco didn’t know if she was frightened, shocked, or simply overcome with emotion. With any other patient, he might have asked, but she was different. She only ever shared what she was absolutely sure she wanted to share, and she could shut down quickly if prodded. So instead he remained silent, letting the young woman absorb what was in front of her.

A child. Did she really understand it, he wondered, that she was growing a new life?

“Is it a boy or a girl?” Mila asked hoarsely after a few minutes.

“Mila, dear, it’s too early to know that sort of thing. The baby is too small,” Lorenz told the girl. Draco glanced back at her, having nearly forgotten she was there.

“Actually,” he said, “while we can’t tell the gender just by looking, we do have a charm now that can tell us. It’s effective as early as eight weeks, and since we’re well past that mark now, it should work.” He looked down at Mila. “Would you like to know the sex?”

She nodded vigorously. “Yes.”

Draco released the charm on his wand and the picture faded. He then placed the tip of his wand lightly against the skin of Mila’s navel, approximately where he guessed the fetus to be, based on the scan. “ _Genus Ostendo_ ,” he said softly. A white glow appeared under the surface of her skin, in the shape of the fig-sized fetus below. Then the light turned green, holding for a moment before slowly fading.

“It’s a boy,” he said.

The room was silent for a moment, absorbing that.

“Well, a boy,” said Lorenz, her voice taking on an optimistic tone. “That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

But Mila didn’t respond. She was staring her at stomach, her face oddly pinched, and one finger stroking cautiously over the place where the green light had just been glowing.

“Mila, darling?” Lorenz asked, coming closer. “Didn’t you hear?”

Mila flinched and closed her eyes.

“Perhaps we should give her a moment,” said Draco. “In fact, would you mind very much just waiting outside?”

Lorenz stilled and looked at him for a second or two, and Draco wondered if she was about to get offended. But instead she simply nodded, patted one of Mila’s arms lightly, and turned to go.

They were alone, and Mila still hadn’t opened her eyes.

“It’s all right,” Draco said gently to her. “If you need some time alone, I can wait outside as well. There’s no hurry. You can take all the time-“

But Mila grabbed his wrist. “You can stay,” she said.

“All right.” Draco sat in the stool next to the exam table and waited. Perhaps she wanted to talk. He could be patient.

But instead she rested her head against the back of the exam table and stared at the ceiling, her eyes glistening in the harsh light of the room. She blinked a few times, very rapidly, and then her face wilted like a flower, and she was crying in earnest. It was quiet; she hardly made a sound at all beyond a few squeaks. But she was shaking with the force of it.

Draco wondered why learning the gender specifically had triggered this. Was she disappointed? Did she not want a boy?

But then she tilted her head up towards the ceiling again and whispered, more for herself than for him, “It’s real. It’s really real.”

“Yes, Mila,” Draco said, reaching for her hand. She took it, clasping his fingers tightly. “It is.”


	15. Don't Bring Me Down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another Hermione chapter! I know there are some of you out there who aren't loving this storyline so much, or maybe like it but are still frustrated with Hermione. I hope you know that I too find Hermione frustrating at times. Part of the challenge I'm trying to give myself here is writing something more plot heavy that still remains true to these characters. I'm aware it's a fine line I'm walking. I welcome suggestions for how I can make this more seamless, since plotting isn't my forte. The goal is for it to feel realistic, even when a character doesn't do everything we want them to. 
> 
> I have really appreciated all the kind and thoughtful feedback I have gotten so far. All I ask is that, if you do have criticism, please make sure it's constructive. If I'm going to finish this thing, I need some motivation!
> 
> Happy Easter to anyone who might celebrate that. And happiness and health to all of you! <3

(Hermione)

“I don’t understand,” Hermione said, looking from one Mind Healer to the other. She saw Healer Bulstrode shift slightly in her chair. “Why has the Legilimency stopped working, exactly?”

Healer Goddard sighed. “The reasons are quite complicated Ms. Granger. Suffice it to say that we have to put that particular treatment on hold for the time being.”

“I’m a smart witch,” Hermione said drily. “I’m confident I can keep up with any explanation you provide, no matter how technical.”

She saw Goddard and Bulstrode exchange a look. Perhaps, Hermione realized, she had sounded a bit arrogant in saying that. But it didn’t matter, because it was also true. Not to mention that “suffice it to say” was hardly a sufficient answer at all. She needed to _understand_.

“I was not for a moment questioning your intelligence Ms. Granger,” Goddard said. “It’s simply a matter of… This case is unprecedented, you see.”

And suddenly Hermione understood. It wasn’t that Goddard doubted her ability to follow the explanation. It was that he had no idea how to explain it.

“I understand,” she said. “I don’t expect… I’m not looking to point fingers. I hope you know that.” How could she, when at least one finger would most surely end up being pointed back at herself? She had caused this in the first place. “I know that this is a complicated situation. But even if you don’t know everything that’s happening, I would still like to hear what you do know. Even a partial explanation is better than no explanation at all.”

Goddard nodded, seeming to relax a little. “Yes, of course,” he said. He thought a moment, looking at his clasped hands. “The truth is, I’ve had to stop the Legilimency on your mother simply because I’ve run out of… pieces. To put back in their proper place.” He watched Hermione’s reaction, which was, at that point, mere confusion, before continuing. “What I mean is, there are pieces missing. Or, better yet, there are pieces that _appear_ to be missing.”

“I’m sorry, but what’s the difference?” Hermione asked while all the while a roiling panic was beginning to rise inside her.

“The difference is that I doubt the pieces are truly missing from her mind entirely. They just aren’t readily accessible on the surface. My theory is that they’ve gotten… buried somehow, hidden under other layers, making them very, very difficult to get to.”

Hermione absorbed that. “But it’s just a theory.”

“Based on what I know to be true of the mind and how it works, yes,” said Goddard. “You see, it is a misconception that Obliviation _removes_ memories. It is actually impossible, at this point in our current magical practice, to remove something from the mind. We can make copies, for pensieve memories, and we can warp memories or bury them with Obliviation. There’s a reason it’s called ‘memory modification’ rather than ‘memory removal.’ Because the memories can be retrieved or put right again, with some skill.”

“So, you’re saying that because it is impossible for magic to remove a part of the mind, the missing pieces in my mother’s mind can’t have been removed, only hidden?” Hermione summarized.

“Precisely.”

“But you don’t know _where_ the pieces are, or how to get to them.”

“Correct.”

Hermione sighed. “And this is obviously not a common issue.”

“I’ve never seen such a thing before in my life.”

“And therefore you don’t believe it can be resolved through Legilimency any longer.”

Goddard sighed. “The prospect of trying makes me extremely nervous. I _have_ made progress, as you have readily seen. To seek out the missing pieces I would have to… _dig_ , for lack of a better word, around in the healed and healthy parts of her mind, which might serve to only damage it further. My concern is that if I attempted it at this point, it would only make things worse.”

“But, then, what do we do?’

Goddard turned to look at Bulstrode, who nodded, then turned to Hermione. “There are other treatment options,” she said. “Ones that are less invasive than Legilimency. There are charms that are designed to stimulate the mind into healing itself-“

“Yes, but you said, when we went over the options in August, that those were most useful in less serious cases.”

“Yes,” Bulstrode said mildly, gracefully brushing off the fact that she’d been interrupted. “But in conjunction with other treatments, they may be helpful. There are also spells that can reorient the structure of the mind, separate the layers, change their position, bring to the surface that which was buried before. They are spells we use in a lot of Obliviation cases, to help patients recover memories. I think they could be very effective here. In combination with the healing spells, your mother’s mind could begin to uncover and reposition the missing pieces herself. Or Goddard could use Legilimency, once the pieces have been uncovered, to put them in the right place again.”

Hermione thought that over. It sounded far-fetched to her, a guessing game rather than a real plan of action. But then, when the case was unprecedented, all action was a kind of guessing game, wasn’t it? “Is there any risk that this... restructuring would become permanent or do further damage? After all, if my mother's mind is like a...” She searched around for a good metaphor, “…a house, for example, and you're changing the position of the rooms, what floor they're on, or which rooms are even accessible... Couldn't that make the structure... unstable?”

Goddard considered that. “It might be more effective to think of her mind as a deck of cards that needs to be reshuffled,” he said. "The external structure, the container of the mind, will not change. Its nature would remain he same, and it will not be any less stable than it was before. But the order of the... 'cards' will be different. It could simply turn up new things, things we haven't seen, from the bottom of the deck, if you will. The things we can't access right now." 

Hermione scratched her temple lightly, thinking that over. “All right, I suppose we’ll try it,” she said.

“I’ll continue the Legilimency with your father,” Goddard reassured her. “That seems to still be working well. We may run into the same problem down the line, but as his case was more severe, there is still much to do in this current phase of treatment.”

“So you think my mother and father’s cases are the same, it’s just that my father’s is more extreme?”

“Yes, I think that’s fair to say. Their symptoms were caused by the same magical blast, so it stands to reason that the effects would be similar as well.”

“So you think the type of magic it was _did_ have something to do with it.” Hermione had been wondering about this since her parents had been hospitalized, wondering how a single burst of magic could have done all this, even with her parents’ minds being as fragile as they were.

“I think it must have,” said Goddard.

“Do you think understanding the nature of the magic would help us know what kind of treatment would work best?”

She caught an almost inaudible sigh from Bulstrode and turned to look at her. “It would be best if we didn’t venture down that path again, Hermione,” she said, and the Gryffindor immediately registered the (likely deliberate) use of her first name.

“But if it would help… wouldn’t it be best to at least know what sort of magic it was? I’m not trying to track down or blame the person who did this. I just want to know that nature of the magic, so we know what _kind_ of damage it inflicted.”

“We cannot learn the nature of the magic itself without consulting the person who performed that magic. And we don’t have access to that information.”

“If we could just talk to the Aurors who-“

“I know you feel strongly about this,” Bulstrode interrupted. “And I understand why. But there are rules in place for a reason. Aurors and Healers are bound in many of the same ways, and for us to have a strong cooperative relationship, which is often required between the two groups, we must both respect the others' requirements and protocols. We have no justifiable reason to invade the privacy of the wizard who performed the magic, not when we have no way of knowing if understanding more about the magic or the person who performed it would help us more effectively heal your parents. Therefore it would be pointless to ask.”

Hermione remained silent in her chair. Personally, she felt even the _possibility_ of helping her parents in a way the Healers hadn’t yet thought of was justification enough for asking the Aurors, but she knew what response she would get if she shared that opinion aloud. She would get nowhere on this particular issue, not with the people who sat before her at this moment, at least.

“All right,” she said finally. “We’ll do these spells, these charms, to… reshuffle my mother’s mind, then, if you think that would be best.”

“Yes,” said Goddard. “We are both in agreement that it would be.”

“I’ll get the consent paperwork drawn up for you to sign, and we can begin right away,” Bulstrode added, looking relieved that Hermione appeared to be letting this go.

Which only proved, of course, that Millicent Bulstrode did not yet know Hermione Granger very well at all.

***

Hermione returned to work with her mind very much on her parents’ case. She made herself focus for her meeting with a client and for the few brief conversations she had with colleagues throughout the afternoon, but otherwise she sat at her desk, thinking things through.

There was just so much _guesswork_ involved in these treatment methods, and Hermione had a great distaste for guesswork. She had always believed that with enough information, a person should never have to guess at anything. With enough information, clear answers could be worked out. Gather all the information it was possible to gather on something, then use your brain to determine the solution; that was the best method for solving a problem. It had never failed her in the past.

So why would she give up the method now, in a time of such great need?

 _I need to find a way to talk to the wizard myself_. Not to lay any blame or make him uncomfortable. She had not been lying when she told the Healers that. Just to gather information, just to hear, straight from his mouth, what had occurred. Just to ask questions the Aurors might not have thought to ask.

But how to get the name?

The obvious answer was Ron. He would have access to those sorts of files, and retrieving the name would be easy. He wouldn't even have to _show_ her the file, really. Even if he just gave her the wizard's name and address...

Her stomach clenched painfully at those thoughts. Because it would be using him, using his position for her own gain, and she knew that was unfair to him. And also because she still had not told him about her parents, and it was starting to weigh quite heavily, that untold secret. 

And that was what sealed her decision in the end. She had ruminated on it for the rest of the day, well into the evening and the next morning. And she had realized, as she arrived at work for the day, that it was time. She needed to tell Ron, if for no other reason than she had been waiting too long already. She wasn't particularly looking forward to the conversation, to trying to explain why she had hesitated so long in telling him. She could barely explain it to herself. 

But Ron was understanding, and even if it meant a long and difficult discussion, she knew he would try to understand her feelings anyway. That was one of the many extraordinary things about him. 

Not to mention, he would likely have some very good advice on how to proceed, and he would want to help. He always wanted to help her, even when she was finding herself not ready to accept that help.

But she was ready now. She finally was. And so she decided to visit him at his office for lunch, food from his favorite sandwich shop in tow as a sort of peace offering. Or merely a token of love, perhaps.

Ron was not in his office when she arrived. Other Aurors were around, just starting their lunch breaks, and Hermione waved hello and smiled to the ones she knew. Then, when she discovered that Ron's office was neither locked nor warded, she went inside to wait for him.

Looking around, she could see why there wasn’t much point to Ron having any protections on the door. There was hardly anything _in_ the office, save for his desk, few chairs, and a wall of filing cabinets. There wasn't anything sensitive lying out in the open, not anything that wasn’t already clearly under magical lock and key in one of the cabinets.

While she waited, she looked with curiosity at the cabinets in question. The filing system had changed in the last year, Ron had told her. It used to be that reports were kept only within their relative departments, and Aurors from other departments had to request copies if they wanted to see them. This had been shown to be a hindrance, however, especially since the more complex cases tended to overlap with multiple departments or required extensive research on past cases. So the Corps had streamlined things, installing magical cabinets called InfiniVaults in the offices of all the senior Aurors. With the right password, as Hermione understood it, an Auror could open an InfiniVault and immediately have access to any report or file from any department, simply by asking for it. It was brilliant, and quite convenient, Ron had told her multiple times.

She spotted the InfiniVault cabinet immediately. It looked different from all the others: black instead of gray, and with a small, silver infinity symbol embedded in the front of it. She stared at it for a moment before standing up and making her way towards it.

It was small, unobtrusive, looking not at all extraordinary. And yet it contained the very thing she needed. It was the one barrier standing between her and the name she so desperately wanted.

She couldn't deny that the part of her that did some rule breaking in school was sorely tempted to find some way to open it. And the part of her that was much smarter and more grown up than that knew perfectly well that to do so would be illegal. So she simply stared at it some more in longing and frustration.

Her fiancé opened the door not long after, and when she turned at the sound she saw him standing in the door way, looking surprised.

“Hello, love,” he said after a moment. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I thought I’d come surprise you for lunch,” she said, her stomach doing a flip at the thought of the conversation that would accompany this lunch.

He smiled, walking up to her to give her a kiss. “That’s very nice.”

“I brought you a soup and a sandwich.”

His grin broadened. “Even better. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Hermione shrugged. “Well, you accuse me of taking too many working lunches, so I thought it might be good to get out of the office for once.”

“A wise decision,” he agreed. He looked down and noticed what she was standing right next to. “Trying to break into my cabinet, are we? Trying to drown yourself in badly done paperwork?” he asked, amused.

Hermione huffed a laugh. “I was just contemplating the cabinet,” she said. “It’s that InfiniVault you were telling me about, isn’t it?”

“That’s the one,” said Ron.

“How does it work?”

“Well, I’m the only one who can open this one,” said Ron. To her surprise, he gripped the handle and pulled. She heard the latch release, and the drawer opened. “It knows my hand, like a signature. I’m told it’s based somewhat on Muggle fingerprint technology. It was a Muggleborn who invented this you know. Dennis Creevey.”

“Really? I hadn’t realized that.”

“Yep. Bloody brilliant. He’s raking in the gold now, thanks to this. Most offices are buying them. The DTF will have them soon enough, I’m sure.”

“So you just have to be the one to open it?” Hermione said, surprised. “It knows your fingerprints and that’s enough?” It didn't seem that secure to her.

“No, not on its own. You have to enter a password with your wand here.” He pointed to the open drawer, where there was a shimmering, translucent shield on the surface, keeping them both from seeing what was inside. On one side of the shield sat a row of little blank spaces, and Ron lifted his wand and started tapping them until they formed a numerical code: 19910901.

“All ones and nines and zeros,” she remarked. “How do you remember it?”

“It’s a date,” he said. “The year nineteen ninety-one. September the first.”

Hermione considered that day and its significance, and it didn’t take her long to figure it out. “The day you started at Hogwarts.”

“And the day I met you and Harry,” said Ron. “The day everything changed.” His smile was soft and warm.

“A very good day,” Hermione said quietly. It was a good password, easy to remember. And yet one most people would not think to guess. She shook herself. “Well, so that’s the security. But how does the cabinet itself work?”

Ron didn’t seem surprised at all that she was asking. He showed her how you could request a file by case number, or search through a set of files by using specific parameters, like department codes, dates, the name of the Auror who filed it, and even key words. Hermione listened raptly, fascinated.

“Apparently Dennis got the idea for it from another Muggle technology,” Ron was saying now. “Something called the interweave… interweb…?”

“The internet?”

“Yes, that’s it! The internet. It’s an amazing thing. He was explaining some of it to us when he came to give us a tutorial. Apparently Muggles have these boxes called computers, where they store important things, and do other stuff that I don’t really understand…” He trailed off as he looked at Hermione, accurately reading the patiently loving expression on her face. “Of course, you must know all of this already. No doubt your parents use the internet all the time, I suppose.”

“Some,” she said. “Although it’s younger Muggles who use it the most.”

“Sure,” said Ron. “Anyway.” He closed the cabinet. “That’s the InfiniVault. Convenient as all get out. I don’t know how we managed before.”

“Yes, it’s quite ingenious,” Hermione agreed. "I imagine it saves you a great deal of time."

"Most certainly. And it's far more secure. It has to be, of course, since it contains files for the entire DMLE. Some reports are made available to the public, of course, but most of it remains classified."

"Particularly ongoing cases, I imagine," Hermione mused.

“And sensitive information about individuals that have been under investigation. The Ministry has been tightening its regulations on that in the past few years. Trying to avoid lawsuits, for the most part, I think."

Hermione swallowed, realizing that the mystery wizard whose name she was after fell squarely in that category.

"But enough about that,” Ron said, putting his arms around her waist and leaning down to give her a kiss. “How about some lunch then?”

Their lips met, and, though Hermione had been expecting a quick peck, Ron deepened the kiss quickly, making her hum. He hummed in return, his front grinding against hers suggestively before he broke away with a laugh.

"What's so funny?" she asked, sounding a bit breathy from the kiss.

He shook his head, grinning down at her. "I'm pretty sure I've had this fantasy before, is all," he said. "You showing up to my office for no reason, looking all beautiful. Of course, in my head you're wearing considerably fewer clothes." His fingers played at the collar of her blouse for a moment, as though he was going to start undoing the buttons.

Hermione laughed too, even while her insides gave a light throb of pleasure. "And what happens then?" she asked flirtatiously, a hand slipping up under his robes. "I undress for you? You take me right here on the desk? I come crying your name, calling you Auror Weasley?"

"Precisely," said Ron, his grin turning devilish. "You know me so well."

Hermione kissed him. "Auror Weasley," she teased, her smile matching his against his lips.

Ron pressed close to her once more, a hand tangling in her hair as he ravished her mouth. Hermione was just starting to melt into it when he pulled away with a groan.

"Can't _actually_ go through with it, of course," he said, panting a little. "I'm not trying to get sacked."

“So much self control,” Hermione said with a sweet little smile. She fanned herself suggestively. “That's really hot, you know."

Ron smacked her lightly on the bottom before pulling away. "Don't tempt me, witch. You know how hard it is for me to resist you."

Hermione sighed, a part of her wanting to continue this game. But it mostly because it was such a fun and welcome distraction from the purpose at hand. She'd nearly forgotten, between the InfiniVault and Ron's playful advances, why she had come in the first place. But she _was_ there for a reason, and their time was limited.

“How about that lunch, then? I’m sure you’re already very hungry.” 

“Always,” he said, leaning in for one more quick peck before coming around to the other side of his desk.

They made idle chatter as they unpacked the food and settled in for lunch, Hermione all the while trying to figure out the best way to breach this very sensitive topic. In her hurry to get it out in the open she realized she hadn't thought it through completely. There was a very good chance she would start crying or that Ron would become upset, and this was not the best place for it.

On the other hand, it was the end of the week, and the Ministry was where Ron had access to the paperwork that could help her. If she was going to get the name before the weekend, it needed to be now, didn't it?

She was waiting for a lull in the conversation, a good moment of transition, when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" called Ron.

It was Auror Woo, who Hermione recognized as working with Ron in the Organized Crime department, before Ron's injury. The man paused briefly when he saw that Ron wasn't alone.

"Oh," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize you had company." He gave Hermione a wave, which she returned.

"It's no problem," said Ron, already reaching for the file that Wu had clutched in his hand. "That's the case you were..."

"Yes," the other Auror answered, his eyes sliding to Hermione again for a moment. "Any thoughts you have would be appreciated. We're at a bit of a dead end, I'm afraid."

"Sure," said Ron, tucking the file away for safekeeping in a desk drawer. "Give me the weekend?"

"Of course," said Wu. "Take all the time you need. Merlin knows we're not getting anywhere with it."

Ron hummed in agreement. "Well, it's a strange one."

"Indeed. I'll feel much better when you're back with us."

Ron gave a him a close-lipped smile. "Me too."

Auror Wu took his leave then, telling Hermione it was good to see her again, a sentiment she returned before he left, closing the door. She looked at Ron with curiosity.

"Sorry, it's just... Just a tricky case. One that I most certainly would be working if..." He shrugged his injured shoulder, and Hermione could easily fill in the blanks.

"Still, you're consulting. That's good."

"Can't go out in the field, though," Ron added despondently. "Can't see any of it for myself. I have to rely on other Aurors' notes. And that's..." He sighed. "That's frustrating."

"I know, love," Hermione said, reaching out her hand and giving his a squeeze. "I'm sorry. You know, if you ever needed any help, I'm good with interpreting notes and research. I do it all the time in my job."

"I know you do. And I bet, if you were an Auror, you could find something the rest of us missed, no question. But..." He trailed off, actually looking a bit uncomfortable.

"But I'm not an Auror," Hermione finished for him.

Ron nodded, and his discomfort almost looked a bit like guilt. "I'm not allowed to tell you anything, unfortunately. Not unless Robards signs a waiver that approves you to be a consultant, and I would have to have a very good reason to allow a civilian... not to mention the conflict of interest..."

Hermione squeezed his hand more tightly. "It's all right, love. It makes sense, of course. These cases are very serious. You don't want information to fall into the wrong hands."

"No, we really don't," said Ron, seeming to shake himself out of his melancholy. "And, like I said, security is tightening across all departments. Kinglsey and Robards both feel very strongly about it. We Aurors have to be very careful right now."

Hermione's stomach dropped, knowing what this meant for her as much as it meant for Ron. She'd already felt uncomfortable about it going in, but it was becoming clear that she could not ask Ron what she had been intending to ask him. She could not ask him to retrieve the name of the mystery wizard for her. Though it was a small thing, a seemingly innocuous thing, it would be in direct violation of Ron's duties as an Auror.

What's more, he would do it if she asked. She knew he would as sure as she knew anything. It was different from keeping details of a case from her that she had nothing to do with. This was her parents' health and well-being. If he knew the situation and that there was a way for him to help, he would pursue it, no matter how much trouble it caused him down the road. Even if it lost him his job.

And she could not let him do that. She could not let him risk it.

So she swallowed down the regret, the disappointment, and turned the conversation back to more pleasant things as they finished their lunch. The lunch hour was mostly gone anyway, and she had a lot to think about. She kissed him goodbye, told him she loved him, and left him smiling after her.

By the time she got back to her office, her mind was whirring. She had not yet given up on the idea of getting that name; it still seemed the best avenue for helping her parents. Yet she had to find a way to do it that left Ron out of it.

A part of her mind was already betraying her better sensibilities, reminding her that Ron had given her all the information she needed, if she was clever enough to use it. She had the password; she knew how the InfiniVault system worked. But sneaking into the Ministry for less-than-honest purposes was tricky. She knew that from experience. And then there was the challenge of the fingerprint recognition on the handle. She would have to be polyjuiced as Ron to open it, which required another level of deception altogether...

_No._

No. She couldn't do it. Not like that. Because Ron's trust in her was absolute. He had given her that information without batting an eye, with the certainty that she would never use it against him. And if she were caught, if the plan didn't work, it would reflect back on Ron as badly as it did her. It would still be risking his position as an Auror, and that would not do.

She had to find her own way to get the name. She had to find a way that gave Ron full deniability. Which meant that she would have to be very clever and very persistent. She would have to think outside the box, beyond the DMLE report. 

What if she went back to the place in question, the site of the accident? What if there were Muggles there whose memories, while modified, could still be useful to her? If they _knew_ where the blast had originated, even vaguely, there might be signs of it still there, in the area, which might help her pinpoint an address. She could-

A knock on her open office door interrupted her racing thoughts, and she looked up to see Harry there, leaning against the door frame.

“Harry,” she said, smiling. “What are you doing in this part of the building?”

He didn’t return the smile. “It’s Friday,” he said flatly.

She blinked at him, not understanding.

“Lunch on Fridays,” Harry reminded her coolly. “The thing we’ve been doing every week for the past nine months?”

Hermione’s stomach dropped. She had forgotten. “Oh, Harry, I’m-“

“It was your week,” he said, interrupting her. “When you didn’t show I came here to look for you. They said you’d gone out. I thought maybe you were grabbing food for us. But then you never showed up.”

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she said. “I just… something came up. Something important. I had to step out and take care of it.”

“I get it,” said Harry. “But you could have at least told me.”

“No, I know. I just… I forgot. I’ve been distracted lately.”

“Yeah,” he said. His eyes were accusatory, and it made Hermione’s insides burn.

“Look, it’s not a big deal,” she said. “I’ll just make up for it next week, and we’ll resume as usual.”

Harry nodded slowly. “Yeah, right. Not a big deal. Well, that’s good to know.”

“What?”

“It’s just good to know it’s not that important to you. I’ll keep that in mind for the future.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but of course Hermione wasn’t fooled.

“Harry…”

“Look, I’ve got to run. I’ve got a meeting.”

“Don’t be like this.”

He looked at her, and there was real hurt in his eyes. “Like what, Hermione? Someone who doesn’t enjoy being stood up? I know it’s different for you, being free and clear to do whatever you want, but I have a kid now, and I don’t get a lot of time to…” He shook his head. “Forget it. I just wanted to…” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Never mind.”

“Harry…”

“I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Harry!”

But he was gone. Hermione sat behind her desk, considering going after him. But she had work of her own to do, and really, wasn’t he overreacting just a bit? It was just lunch. One week of missing it wouldn’t kill them. He didn’t have to be a baby about it.

 _Wait until he hears that the ‘important’ thing you had to do was go have lunch with Ron,_ said a voice inside her. _Then he’ll really feel cared about_. She buried her head in her hands, her insides churning with guilt once more.

 _I’m just trying to do the best I can,_ she thought, wanting to be able to tell Harry that, to tell the world that. _I’m doing all that I can do._


	16. Taken For Granted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments on the last chapter! I know I'm way behind in answering them. I let the comments for this and my other fics pile up on me and it's been one hell of a week at work. But I'll be getting to them soon, I promise!
> 
> Here's a Harry chapter for you, to round out the cycle.

(Harry)

Harry didn’t think he’d ever been more exhausted in his life. Perhaps during the war he had, but that was a different kind of exhausted. Weary. Numb. This was different.

He cancelled the alarm that was blaring on his wand, the one he had forgotten was set, and rolled over. Teddy was there next to him, no longer asleep, but looking at him with dark eyes that seemed remarkably like Andromeda’s, though they were half-closed in languor.

“How are you feeling, Ted?” Harry asked softly, placing the back of his hand against the boy’s forehead. Teddy had been getting sick all night and had kept Harry up as well. They’d finally managed to drift off only a couple of hours ago.

“Better,” Teddy replied, his voice equally soft.

“I think it would be best if you stayed home from school today and got some rest.” It wasn’t an ideal situation. Harry really needed to be at work, particularly for an important meeting that morning with the PR team, to deal with the Rowle case. But Teddy was more important and, if Harry was honest with himself, he knew he needed the rest too.

But to his surprise, Teddy shook his head vehemently. “I want to go to school,” he said.

Harry furrowed his brow. “Aren’t you tired, Teddy? Don’t you want to sleep some more?”

But Teddy shook his head again. “No. I see bad things when I sleep.”

Harry sighed. He likely knew what “bad things” Teddy was referring to. It hadn’t been illness that kept him awake all night, but rather emotional upheaval. They’d gone to see Andromeda the afternoon before, and it hadn’t gone well.

 _Stupid_ , Harry said to himself. _Stupid, stupid._ Draco had warned him, had told him it was too soon. But Harry had decided to risk it. Teddy had been begging for days, finally at the end of his patience and anxious – more than anxious, really – to see his grandmother. And Andromeda thought it would be all right, that the effects of the charms had died down enough, that she was managing the side effects of the potions well enough, to handle a visit.

“It’s just an hour or two,” she had said when he floo called her about the prospect of bringing Teddy by. “I don’t see why we it would be a problem. I’m not a complete invalid.”

Harry had chuckled at that and readily accepted her word for it.

It had started out all right. Teddy was incredibly happy to see her, and seemed able to look past her notably sickly appearance, though Harry was sure he had picked up on it, being as sensitive as he was. Andromeda’s voice was weaker than usual too, and Harry noticed that she took longer to say things, as though she had to reach deeply into her brain to dredge up the words. But she had embraced Teddy enthusiastically and kissed him all over his face, and as Harry watched the sweet reunion he told himself that he had made the right choice.

But something had happened towards the end of the visit. While playing with Teddy Andromeda had gotten a bout of nausea that she couldn’t fight and had barely made it to a nearby bin before she became violently sick. Teddy had watched in horror and Harry in helplessness as she bent over and retched and retched. Harry knew it was no use pulling Teddy away now; he’d already seen it. So instead Harry had gotten a damp cloth and helped Andromeda to the sofa when she was finished, tending to her as best he could.

He perched next to her on the sofa as she lay across it, dabbing at her forehead and cheeks with the cloth.

“My wrists too,” she said hoarsely to him. “That always helps.”

Harry had obliged, fully aware that Teddy was standing there, watching them. Andromeda met his eyes after a few minutes.

“You should take him home,” she said softly.

“I don’t want to leave you like this,” Harry argued.

“This is how it is, Harry. I’m used to it. It’s all right. It’s passing now.”

“I could make you something before I go. Some soup, maybe?”

She had shaken her head and then closed her eyes, reeling as if the action made her dizzy. “I’ve no appetite at all. And if I do get hungry, there is plenty of food here for me to warm.”

Still Harry hesitated, until Andromeda gripped his wrist tightly. “Please,” she said. “Please don’t make him watch this.”

And so they had left, returning home by floo, Teddy quiet and visibly shaken. Harry had taken him in his arms and told him it would be all right, that it wasn’t as bad as it looked, that it was normal, that Andromeda would feel better in a few weeks. He told Teddy anything he could think of that might help. He had expected Teddy to ask questions; Teddy always asked questions when he didn’t understand something. But he’d said nothing, only nuzzled into Harry’s chest and stayed there until Harry insisted they try to eat something.

They both managed to only pick at their dinner, though, and afterward Teddy didn’t even want to play Exploding Snap or do a puzzle or any of the other activities he did before his bath.

Harry felt worried, frightened even, but he didn’t know what else to do. So he’d continued with their routine, putting Teddy to bed promptly at eight. And then he’d gone right to bed himself.

He’d woken with a jolt when he heard Teddy crying his name, and made his way down the hall to Teddy’s room. When he turned on the light he found Teddy sitting up in his little bed, having thrown up all over his bedspread. He was sobbing. Harry got him to the bathroom before he got sick again, and tended to Teddy much like he had done with Andromeda. When Teddy had settled a bit Harry tried to scourgify the bedspread, though it still smelled horrible and would need to be properly laundered. He’d then let Teddy get in bed with him, and Teddy had tossed and turned all night, gotten sick twice more, though he hardly had anything left in his stomach, and finally cried himself to sleep.

It had been hell, and Harry was feeling the full effects of it now as he lay there, looking at his godson.

“I know it’s hard, Teddy,” he said. “But you don’t even have to sleep, you know, just rest. I just think school will be hard for you when you haven’t slept.”

“No,” said Teddy, his tone stubborn and his mouth set in a flat line. “I want to go.”

Harry sighed and looked at him some more. He didn’t know what to make of it. The only thing he could think was that Teddy wanted the distractions that school could bring. He wanted his friends.

“All right,” Harry said. “Then we need to get up, and we need to get cleaned up. How about a shower?” They both still smelled a bit like sick, Harry was sure.

Teddy agreed, and Harry brought him into the shower with him, washing his hair and showing him how to stand and tilt his head back so the water and soap didn’t get into his eyes.

When they were all clean Harry made them breakfast, which he was surprised to see Teddy scarf down quickly. At least he had his appetite back.

After he dropped Teddy off at school, Harry contemplated returning home and climbing back in bed. But he really couldn’t justify it now, not without Teddy to take care of at home. And his meeting that morning was an important one. So he went to work, telling himself it wouldn’t be so bad.

He was relatively useless for the PR team meeting, but luckily he’d had the forethought to surround himself with the most competent members of the department, and they were able to work out the details of their action plan with minimal input from him. They had decided, however, that the best thing to do was to have Harry give an interview with someone from the _Prophet_ to address Edmund Rowle’s accusations head on and to remind the public of all the good the after school programs were doing for wizarding youth.

Harry had sighed internally at that. He knew, of course, that he was the most logical choice. He was deputy head of the department, he had created the youth programs himself and was in charge of their daily operations, and, well… he was Harry fucking Potter. There was just no way around it. Still, the thought made him, if it was possible, even more exhausted than before.

He welcomed his lunch break and was considering what he wanted when there was a gentle knock on his door.

“Come in,” he called, silently cursing whoever it was. Couldn’t he just get a damned break once in a while?

But when the door opened, Harry saw Hermione standing there, holding a bag of takeaway food and looking uncertain.

“Hi, Harry,” she said softly.

“Hey, ‘Mione,” he replied. They hadn’t spoken since the week before, when Harry had told her off for standing him up for lunch. He felt a bit guilty about that; he knew he’d overreacted. But he also knew that for whatever reason, Hermione bailing on him had felt wretched, like one of the few bright spots of his week was suddenly taken away. But he hadn’t done a very good job of explaining that to her.

Seeing her now as she watched him with large, pleading brown eyes, he knew he couldn’t stay mad at her. She was Hermione, after all. All he had to do was think about everything she’d done for him over the years, and any residual anger faded.

“I brought you lunch,” she said. “It’s a curry. Your favorite. Plus rice and chapatis, of course.”

Harry found himself smiling. “Have a seat.”

Looking visibly relieved, Hermione sat and presented Harry’s food to him. Harry summoned a couple of butterbeers from a cabinet near his desk for them, and they ate together in silence for a minute or two.

Then Hermione put her fork down. “I feel just awful, Harry,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about it all week.”

Harry relinquished his fork as well and looked at her. “Don’t, please, really. I was…” He considered what he was going to say. “I was just having a bad week, I suppose. Or I was… I don’t know. Lunch with you is always something I look forward to and I… was disappointed, I guess.”

Harry was surprised to see Hermione’s eyes already glistening with emotion. “They mean a lot to me too, Harry,” she said. “I never meant for it to seem like they don’t. I was just lost in my own head. There’s been-“ She stopped herself there. “We all have things in our lives that are stressful, don’t we? And I was just stuck in mine. But I wouldn’t give up our lunches together for anything, and I won’t make that mistake again, cancelling without even telling you. I promise.”

Harry nodded. “All right,” he said. “Thank you.”

He knew she was staring at him, but he was looking down at his curry, and he picked up his fork to take another bite.

“You look really tired, Harry,” Hermione said, and Harry looked up again to see that her eyes were tight with concern. “Is everything all right?”

Harry blinked at her. He was halfway to nodding and saying he was fine when he realized how stupid that was. Hermione would see through the pretense anyway.

“I made a mistake,” he said, and he was surprised to find a lump forming in his throat. “I took Teddy to see Andromeda too soon and now…” He swallowed. “I’ve fucked it all up, is what I’ve done.”

“What happened?”

Harry told her the events as they unfolded. “He was so quiet after that, ‘Mione. All day. He barely said anything, and that’s not like him at all. And then he got sick in the middle of the night…” He told her the rest, including how Teddy had still insisted he wanted to go to school.

“He made himself sick, just from seeing Andromeda get sick herself?” Hermione asked.

“I know it seems a bit extreme,” said Harry. “But you weren’t there. You didn’t see…” Harry shook his head. “She doesn’t look good, ‘Mione. Not at all. She’s lost so much weight, and she’s pale and slow-moving and… she doesn’t really seem like herself. And then, when she became sick… it was just really hard to watch. It upset me too. I understand why Teddy reacted that way. He’s sensitive, you know. He doesn’t like anyone else being upset or hurt or anything. It makes him upset too.”

“He has deep empathy,” Hermione offered. “Almost like he’s mirroring Andromeda’s illness, somehow.”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, it really was like that.”

“I’m so sorry, Harry.”

“I don’t think it would have been so bad except…” He ran a hand through his hair. “He knows what it means. He knows enough about what’s going on to know that she wasn’t ill because she ate some spoiled food or came down with a stomach bug. He knows it’s deeper than that, more serious. But he didn’t _know_ … we had managed to protect him from the worst of it, from the details. And now I’ve gone and given him a glimpse without meaning to and I’m… I’m terrified I’ve ruined everything.” To his horror actual tears were welling up in his eyes, so thick they were already threatening to spill over.

“Harry,” Hermione said softly.

“And I’m just so damn _tired_ ,” he said. “I feel completely… empty.”

Hermione stood, making her way over to him. To his surprise, she sat down right in his lap and put her arms around his neck. He went along with it, resting his head against her chest. He could hear her heartbeat in his right ear as she cradled his head.

“You’re a good father, Harry,” she said, and Harry closed his eyes. “And Teddy is strong. He’ll come out of this all right.”

Harry let himself relax. Perhaps coming from someone else those words wouldn’t mean much. But Hermione was never one for platitudes. She was never one to say “it will all be ok” unless she really believed it.

“He has you, and he has Draco,” she went on. “And that makes all the difference.”

Harry found himself snorting. “He has me, at least,” he said.

Hermione pulled back so she could look him in the eye. “What do you mean? Has Draco not been… helping out?”

Harry shook his head, feeling guilty for implying that. “When he’s home, of course he does. But he’s never home.” He sighed. “Not _never_ , of course, not really. But it feels like that. It feels like I’m doing so much of this on my own. All the hard stuff especially. Draco just gets to swoop in every now and then and play with him and read to him and all that, but he isn’t around enough to help me make the hard decisions.”

“So taking Teddy to see Andromeda was your decision alone?” she asked gently.

“I floated the idea by him last week, since I felt like Teddy was starting to get really anxious. He thought it was too soon. And he turned out to be right. Which only makes me…” He sighed again. “I don’t _want_ to resent him, but I catch myself doing it anyway.”

“You’ve got to tell him how you feel, Harry,” Hermione said in an emphatic tone Harry recognized. “If you don’t like the way Teddy’s care is set up right now, you have to tell him. It will only get harder as time goes on.”

“But what can I do?” Harry argued. “Ask him to spend less time at the hospital? This is his job. It’s so important to him, and people depend on him.”

Hermione put a hand on his jaw and tilted his head upwards so he would look at her. “You’re important too, Harry. You and Teddy are more important than anything else. If Draco can’t see that, then…” She bit her lip. “He _will_ see that. He loves you.”

“I don’t want to ask too much of him. Then he’ll just resent me too.”

“So you’ll just go along feeling like he asks too much of you but never say anything? Harry, I thought you wanted a _happy_ relationship.”

Harry chuckled, and Hermione smiled down at him. “You’re right,” he said. “As usual. This is why I keep you around, you know.”

“Well, you know I like to make myself useful.” She patted his cheek. “I’m always here, you know, and so is Ron, if you… if there’s anything we can do.”

“Thanks, ‘Mione.”

She stood, returning to her seat and her lunch, and their conversation turned to happier things.

***

By the time Harry left work to pick up Teddy from school, he was feeling like a zombie. And he knew his day wasn’t over yet. The prospect of cooking and cleaning and everything else his evening would entail made him want to weep from sheer exhaustion.

 _Pull it together, Harry_ , he scolded himself. _You will get through this. You_ have _to._

Thankfully, Teddy appeared to be in much better spirits, much more like his usual self, when Harry spotted him on the playground in front of the school. He was running around with a dark-haired boy Harry didn’t recognize, and they appeared to be having quite a good time. Teddy had made his hair dark as well, a good sign that they were getting along.

“Teddy!” Harry called to him to get his attention.

“Harry!” Teddy cried, once he had his godfather in his sights. He bounded up to Harry with a grin. “Can Liam come over today? Please?”

Harry turned his head to see that the other boy – Liam, he assumed – had approached and was mirroring Teddy’s pleading expression.

“I don’t know, Teddy,” he said. “It’s been a long week. I think we need to rest.” _At least I do_ , he added silently.

“I’ll rest after, I promise,” said Teddy. “And I took a good nap today and everything, just like I said I would. You can ask Miss Adelaide. I _did._ ”

“I believe you, Teddy,” Harry said. “I just don’t…” It felt rotten to turn down Teddy’s request, especially since he didn’t ask to have friends over all that often. Toby Goldstein had stayed overnight once, but that was about it. Any other day he would have readily agreed, but after the previous night…

Teddy took Harry’s hand. “Can we talk alone for a minute, please?”

Harry had to fight a smile at that. It was phrasing much like Draco used when he had something to say to Harry that he didn’t want Teddy to hear. Obviously Teddy had picked it up from him.

Harry let himself be led by the hand over to an empty bench while Liam waited by the gate, watching them but out of earshot.

“What is it, Teddy?” Harry asked, wondering what tactic Teddy was obviously trying to employ to convince Harry to say yes.

“Liam needs to come over today. He _needs_ it.”

“And why is that?”

“Because he had a bad day.”

Harry raised an eyebrow. Was Teddy talking about Liam, or about himself?

“What happened?”

“Some of the other kids are mean to him. He’s new and he talks funny and he doesn’t have a dad. They tell him he’s _weird_. He _needs_ me.”

“What about Ms. Shreever or Miss Adelaide? Do they know what’s going on? Maybe they can help.”

“The kids say it when the teachers aren’t _looking_ ,” he said.

“Have you or Liam told them about what the other kids are saying?”

“They can’t do anything.”

“How do you know?”

Teddy sighed, clearly frustrated. “I want to help him _myself_.”

Harry nearly opened his mouth to ask why, but immediately realized that was a stupid question. He knew why. Teddy was a good, caring person. He may have only been five years old, but if there was anything Harry knew about Teddy, it was that he was good. And he had been encouraged to be that way. Andromeda, Harry, and the other adults in his life had always reinforced the idea that he should be kind and respectful to everyone, and that he should go out of his way to help people in need. So, wasn’t Teddy trying to do just that, right now?

And there might also be a part of Teddy that needed this himself, Harry realized. Perhaps this was how he coped with feeling helpless to help his grandmother. He helped someone else instead.

“If his mother agrees,” Harry said, giving in, “then yes, he can come over for a few hours. But he’s not staying the night, all right? You need to be in bed by eight and you need to sleep, do you understand?”

Teddy nodded vigorously. “I will, I promise.”

“All right, then,” Harry said with a sigh. “Where is his mother?”

Liam’s mother turned out to be an overworked and underfed looking witch named Christiane.

“Oh, wonderful!’ she had said immediately in a breathless voice when Harry told her he’d be willing to let Liam come to Grimmauld for the afternoon. “That would be just wonderful, really. Otherwise he would need to come back to the office with me. I have so much to get done, you understand.” She waved her spindly arms around as she spoke. “I’m doing this all on my own you know, and I just never have a spare minute, you really have no idea.”

Harry blinked at her a moment, thinking that the bags under his eyes likely looked as dark as hers. But she hadn’t seemed to notice that. “Good then,” he said finally. “I’ll give you my address. What time will you come to collect him?”

She released a sigh so heavy her bony shoulders dropped about a foot. “Well I’ll likely finish at the office around six, and then I need to run to Diagon for a few things, so it will likely be around seven.”

 _Seven?_ What was he getting himself into?

“So, Liam, will eat dinner with us, then,” Harry said flatly.

“Oh yes, would you mind?” she replied, her brown eyes as wide and pleading as Teddy’s had been. “That would be such a help. And he’s easy, really. He’ll eat just about anything.”

“No problem,” Harry found himself saying. At this point, what difference did it make? He was so bloody tired he didn’t feel anything anymore, not even anxiety at the prospect of taking care of a whole other human being he barely knew. “Seven o’clock, then.”

He wrote down his address for her, then steered both boys towards the school’s floo. He wasn’t going to risk Apparating with two boys riding side-along. The last thing he needed was to deal with a Splinching on top of everything else.

 _This won’t be so bad_ , he told himself. _It won’t be any different than just having Teddy._ When Toby Goldstein came over, he and Teddy kept themselves occupied in Teddy’s room for most of the day. It was likely that Teddy and Liam would do the same. They’d have a couple of hours of quiet time in Teddy’s room, then play together in the sitting room while Harry cooked dinner. Before he knew it it would be seven o’clock and his weekend could actually begin. And Draco would be getting home only an hour or so later, likely also worn out from his long shift at the hospital, so they could turn in early. Then they would have most of the weekend together, just the three of them. Life would be so much better, easier, then.

Harry’s delusions were quickly shattered only a few minutes after arriving home. For one thing, “quiet time” was clearly a concept that was completely lost on Liam. He immediately wanted to dig into all of Teddy’s toys and find the ones that lit up and made lots of noise. Then he wanted to play with these toys very actively and _very_ loudly, all over the house.

Teddy, for his part, seemed to only encourage him, emulating his behavior instead of balancing it out. Within an hour of being home there were already toys, puzzles, and art supplies scattered all over the main floor. Harry had given up trying to clean up after that, as there didn’t seem much point. Instead he sat on the sofa in the lounge for a bit and listened to the boys run around the house.

 _How does Teddy have the energy for this?_ he thought to himself as he rubbed his temples. The boy had barely gotten a few hours sleep the night before. _He’ll be dead on his feet come seven_. That, really, was the only bright spot in all of this. At least Teddy would be worn out and maybe (with any luck) sleep through the night.

Unfortunately, he couldn’t relax on the sofa for long, as he had heard Liam mention something about drawing new faces on the Black family mural in crayon, and he had to get up to put a stop to that plan before it started.

After some yelling and a very pointed look at Teddy, Harry insisted they go up to Teddy’s room for the next hour before dinner. _For my own sanity_ , he nearly added aloud, but decided that wouldn’t be helpful. Teddy seemed to finally understand, from Harry’s look alone, that he was at his wit’s end with the two of them and was very close to forbidding Teddy from ever inviting Liam over again.

With the boys in Teddy’s room, Harry decided to go ahead and start dinner. It was a good thing, too, because it took him much longer than usual. He would take ingredients out of the fridge and stare at them, forgetting what he needed them for. Then he would set to chopping the vegetables before remembering halfway through that they needed to be sliced, not cubed, and he’d had to wave his wand to put the vegetables back together and start all over. He wasn’t sure if he was so distracted because he was tired or if it was the fact that he kept pausing to listen for sounds coming from Teddy’s room upstairs. He kept expecting to hear screaming, or perhaps explosions of a violent, destructive nature.

Finally dinner was ready, and Harry called the boys, who clambered down the stairs, talking animatedly to each other, and found seats at the table.

Harry was unsurprised, by that point, to learn that Liam was not in fact “easy” and did not in fact eat “just about anything.” He turned his nose up at the vegetables completely, and insisted that he absolutely _hated_ brown sauce on his chicken, and Harry had to take a few extra minutes to rustle up something else for Liam to put on it.

Once they were finally settled with their food, Liam talked almost non-stop, like he had bottled up everything he had ever wanted to say for years and the cork had finally popped. While Harry and Teddy usually talked at dinner, it was always much more relaxed, and they both enjoyed silence as much as they enjoyed talking. Liam seemed incapable of not filling silence with _something_ , and Harry found himself no longer paying attention to the words as he ate, but rather simply staring at the boy in a kind of horrified awe.

He could tell that Teddy, too, was growing weary by the end, as he had stopped talking for the most part in place of trying to get a word in every now and then, and instead just ate slowly while Liam bellowed on and accidentally knocked over his pumpkin juice with his wild gesturing.

After dinner Harry supervised a few rounds of Exploding Snap while they waited for Liam’s mother (who was, also unsurprisingly, late) to arrive. She finally showed up at twenty past, looking even more harassed than he had seen her before and going on about what a hard day she’d had. Harry simply nodded and hummed. He neither had the energy to be annoyed with her nor to feel sorry for her, although he was sure, once he’d gotten some rest himself, he would likely feel both. Single parenting was hard, and Liam was a handful, much more so than Teddy. But the woman also seemed to spend a lot of energy talking and thinking about how hard it was, rather than taking some time to figure out how to make it easier. And that Harry had no patience for.

When mother and son were finally gone, Harry looked around at the mess the boys had made and felt a wave of despair. So he wouldn’t be calling it such an early night after all, since he had to clean all this up, plus clean up from dinner. Perhaps Draco would be willing to help him. Or perhaps he should just save it for the morning and make Teddy help him instead, as a sort of learning experience, a way to build character.

When he turned to Teddy it seemed clear that Liam’s presence in the house had been a character building experience all on its own.

“Can we skip the bath tonight?” he asked his godfather sleepily. “I’m too tired.”

Harry agreed readily. Teddy did have a shower that morning, after all. And it was already nearly a quarter to eight.

So they began a shortened version of the nighttime routine, and once Teddy’s teeth were clean and his pajamas on, he clambered into bed, his eyelids already at half-mast.

“Do you have energy for a story, or is it straight to sleep?” Harry asked him, silently hoping for the latter.

“I want Draco to read to me.”

Harry glanced at the clock. It was only a few minutes past eight. It sometimes took longer than this for Draco to get home.

“I don’t know if he’ll get here in time,” he told Teddy.

“I’ll wait for him,” the boy said with a yawn.

Harry sighed. “Shall we begin a story, at least?” he suggested. With any luck, Teddy would fall asleep quickly, and the point would be moot.

Harry picked up _Alice in Wonderland_ , which they had been working their way through, and found the place where they had left off. He was only a page in or so when a stag Patronus materialized in front of them. Harry blinked at it, feeling like this didn’t bode well.

“Harry,” the stag said in Draco’s voice. “I’m going to grab a quick drink with Hannah and Pansy. I’m sorry it’s so last minute, but I’ll be home by ten, I promise. I love you. Say goodnight to Teddy for me.” And then it vanished.

Harry stared at the spot where the stag had been and blinked some more. He thought for a moment he could muster the energy to be angry, but instead he only felt more despair.

“I guess it’s just you and me, then, Teddy,” he said. He turned to the boy to see that Teddy was already asleep.

Smiling, Harry kissed him on the head, then put the book back on the bedside table. He knew he should get up now and clean up from dinner, at least. But he didn’t move, convincing himself that Teddy might wake up again and wonder where he’d gone. So he settled in, sliding down so his head rested on one of Teddy’s pillows, and closed his eyes. _Just a few minutes_ , he told himself. _Just a few minutes to make sure he stays asleep._

He rested his hands on his stomach, feeling his own breath evening out as the world around him slowly faded.


	17. Fire Meets Gasoline

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is posting many hours later than usual! I had a lot more revisions to do on this chapter than I realized, so it took me a while. I hope you like it! The start of the chapter picks up pretty much right where the last chapter left off, just with a pov shift.
> 
> And I also know I'm still way behind on comment responses! Teaching with distance learning is taking all my time and energy right now and it's very hard to stay on top of everything else. I promise that when the summer rolls around, I will be able to be much more attentive.
> 
> For now, enjoy this next installment and know that I appreciate all of you so much. <333

(Draco)

“I’m so glad we’re finally doing this.”

Draco turned to Hannah and smiled. She was sipping her cocktail – something pink and fruity – through a straw while looking at him with twinkling eyes.

“It indeed has been too long,” Draco agreed. They’d finally managed to coordinate drinks with the two of them and Pansy, after various attempts at poorly made plans that had to be canceled by one of them at the last minute.

This plan had actually been rather spontaneous. Draco was wrapping up his shift and envisioning his weekend at home with Harry and Teddy when Hannah had tracked him down and informed him that she too was getting off shift and that Pansy was free. This was the golden opportunity they’d been waiting for, and it would have been a real shame to pass it up.

 _Harry won’t mind_ , he told himself. Draco used to go out for last minute drinks all the time, and all Harry had ever needed those times was a Patronus informing him why Draco would be a bit later than usual.

“I can’t make it too late a night, though,” he told Hannah after he’d agreed. “I’m knackered and I want some quality time with Harry as well.”

“Of course,” she had replied. “Just a couple of hours.”

Now they were at a magics-only bar just around the corner from the hospital, their usual spot, waiting for Pansy to arrive.

“I think she wanted to put Esme to bed herself,” Hannah informed him. “Apparently she’s in a very clingy stage right now.”

“Toddlers are tough,” Draco remarked. “I remember when Teddy was that age there was about a three month period when he attached himself to Harry like he’d had a Permanent Sticking Charm placed on him. It was really hard on Harry and Andromeda both.”

“And Teddy’s been a fairly easy child, all around, wouldn’t you say?”

“The best,” Draco said, aware that there was plenty of paternal pride in his voice. “I wouldn’t trade him for anything.”

“That’s sweet, Draco. I’m glad it all seems to be working well for you and Harry.”

“I won’t lie, it’s not always easy,” said Draco. “But it’s good anyway. I like being a parent. It makes me really look forward to when Harry and I have a baby of our own.”

“You’re not thinking about _that_ anytime soon, though, I hope. Not with you still in residency. That would be chaos.”

“No,” Draco insisted with a laugh. “I’m not completely insane.”

“Good.” Hannah took another sip of her drink. “Listen, while I have you alone… Have you… been by the Janus Thickey ward recently?”

Draco furrowed his brow. “I had a Mind Healing rotation first year,” he said. “But not really since then. I’ve had no reason to.”

“Oh, well…” Hannah looked suddenly reluctant. “I have. I go visit Neville’s parents there about once a week, you know.”

Draco shook his head. “You’re too good to him, Han.”

She rolled her eyes. “I hardly think so. I like doing it. They’re really sweet people and it means a lot to Neville. Plus the field of Mind Healing has come a long way. They may actually be able to help Frank and Alice recover some of their mental competency, and seeing familiar faces helps with that. Besides,” she went on, making it clear that was the end of the matter, “that’s not what I was going to ask you about.”

“What were you going to ask me?”

Hannah looked surreptitiously around and then leaned in, speaking quietly. “Whether you were aware that Hermione’s parents are on the ward. Have been since early September.”

Draco stared at her a moment, thoroughly confused now. “I haven’t heard a thing about that. She hasn’t told me, certainly. And I don’t think she’s told Harry, or if she has, he was instructed to keep it a strict secret and he has somehow managed to hide that from me all this time.”

Hannah sighed. “I thought so. I haven’t heard her say a thing about it either.”

“Are you absolutely sure it’s them?”

“Of course I’m sure,” she replied. “I’ve seen them. I asked Milicent Bulstrode about them, who is working on their case. I saw Hermione’s name multiple times in the visitor’s log. She comes at least once per week, always during her lunch break. It’s definitely them.”

Draco absorbed that. “What’s wrong with them?”

“There was some kind of accident, some magical burst that scrambled their brains. Their long term memories are totally buried, apparently; they have no sense of who they are. They don’t recognize Hermione…” She bit her lip. “The mother can speak, but the father can’t, when I last heard, at least. And the treatment has stopped working. They’re trying everything they can.”

Draco sat back in his chair, stunned. “That’s horrible.”

“I know.”

“And she hasn’t told anyone.”

“Ron has to know, surely.”

“Yes, of course,” Draco agreed. “It just really surprises me that she hasn’t told Harry.”

“Maybe she has and you just don’t know it.”

“Harry’s pretty easy to read. I think I’d know if he was carrying around something that big.” Of course, Draco would have hoped he’d noticed the same thing with Hermione, but she’d seemed quite like herself when he’d seen her. Granted, with his work schedule and now caring for Teddy, he hadn’t seen her all that much.

“I don’t know if I should say anything to her or not, let her know that I know, offer my support, that sort of thing,” Hannah said. “I would imagine she could use a friend.”

“Maybe, but if she wanted help, wouldn’t she have asked for it? Wouldn’t she have told us?”

“I suppose.” Hannah swirled her drink around with her straw. “So, what then? We just keep mum on the issue, wait for her to say something?”

“Do we have a choice? This is the job, after all. We find out all sorts of things we never intended to.”

“All too true,” Hannah agreed.

They had to stop discussing it then, because Pansy had arrived. There was no need to cover the fact that they were talking about something secret, however, because the moment she placed her pocketbook on the table she started launching into apologies for her lateness and lamenting the difficulties of getting needy toddlers down to bed at a reasonable hour. Hannah and Draco assured her it was fine, and Pansy dropped the issue and decided to get a drink.

“What’s that your having, Han?” she asked the Hufflepuff. “It looks lovely.”

“Pomegranate martini,” Hannah replied, holding it up for her to get a better look. “It’s delicious.”

“Excellent. That’s what I’m having too, then. You two all right, or can I top you off?”

“We’re fine,” said Draco. When Pansy had gone to the bar he turned back to Hannah. “You women and your poncy drinks.”

Hannah rolled her eyes at him. “I bet you’d like this, actually. You like sweet stuff well enough. You just always have to order Ogden’s to prove how much of a man you are.”

“I don’t need Ogden’s for that,” Draco countered. “I could pull down my trousers right here and show the whole bar what a man I am.”

Hannah burst into laughter. “Now that I’d like to see. Of course, it would be just your luck for there to be a photographer in here to catch you in the act. Can you imagine the headlines? ‘Harry Potter’s lover, a closet exhibitionist!’ People would be beside themselves.”

“It would certainly cause a stir,” Draco agreed. “Although I bet you some of them would be excited by the idea. They’re so obsessed with Harry, and me, by default, I suppose, I bet they’d give anything to see us shagging.”

“You could start selling tickets. ‘Watch Harry Potter take it up the arse!’ Twenty galleons a pop. You’d make a fortune.”

“Oh, I’d charge way more than twenty galleons,” said Draco. “And you should know that he buggers me, most of the time.”

“Really?” Hannah said, looking genuinely surprised. She considered that a moment. “I don’t know why, but I always pictured it the other way around. Perhaps it’s because you’re taller.”

“You’ve pictured me and Harry having sex?”

“Hasn’t everyone?” Pansy chimed in, joining in on their conversation with a fresh pink martini in hand. “I think about it all the time. The entire wizarding world does. I bet every adult witch or wizard that has ever heard of the two of you thinks about you shagging at least once a day.”

“If not more,” Hannah added. “I’ve just been telling Draco he should sell tickets to the show. They’d have a packed house every night.”

“Now there’s an idea,” said Pansy. “Save me front row seats, then, would you?”

“You two are hilarious, really,” Draco said drily, deciding his was tiring of this joke. “Bloody comedians, you are.”

“Oh, we’re only kidding,” Hannah assured him.

“Speak for yourself,” said Pansy, smiling at him over her martini.

“Is your sex life really that boring, Pans? You’ve got to get involved in mine instead?”

“Oh, tosh,” she said, swatting him on the arm. “My sex life is fine. I can hardly complain.”

Hannah chuckled. “That’s a ringing endorsement, that is.”

“Theo is a fine lover,” Pansy said haughtily. “He’s enthusiastic and attentive enough to satisfy me. But I didn’t marry him for the sex.”

“Why _did_ you marry him?” Draco asked with a wicked grin. “I’ve always wondered.”

“His money, of course,” she said, totally deadpan. Hannah and Draco both knew she wasn’t serious, naturally. She had plenty of money of her own and had never prioritized such things. But they laughed heartily anyway. “Believe it or not,” Pansy went on, putting down her drink to show she was really serious this time, “I married him because he’s a good man, and I knew he would be a wonderful husband and father.”

“I think that’s the nicest thing I’ve ever heard you say in my life, Pansy,” Draco teased. “Getting a bit sentimental on us, are you? Going soft in your old age?”

“I blame motherhood,” she replied with a sigh. “It does outrageous things to a person.”

“Like makes them say nice things about their husbands,” Hannah said, amused. “Outrageous indeed.”

“Enough about me,” Pansy said. “I want to hear all about this Longbottom dilemma you’ve been teasing us about for weeks. What’s happened, Han? Tell us all about it.”

Hannah sighed. “It’s not a big deal as all that, really.”

Draco and Pansy exchanged a look. This was typical Hannah, to hint at something that was plaguing her only to downplay it when it finally came time to talk about it.

“Why don’t you tell us the situation,” Draco said, with what he thought was quite a lot of patience, “and we’ll decide how big of a deal it is.”

“Oh, all right,” said Hannah. “The issue at hand, at the moment anyway, is that he’s not going to be around for the holidays. Usually we have Christmas with my father and then spend some time with his parents at the hospital. But apparently he’s not going to be able to make it to any of it. He says it’s because it’s his first year teaching at Hogwarts and there’s sort of an unspoken rule amongst the staff that the newer members stay behind to supervise the students who remained for the winter holidays. Neville says he feels… obligated to volunteer.”

“He _feels_ obligated, but isn’t actually required, is what you’re saying,” Pansy clarified.

“Exactly.”

“And you’re put out by this decision.”

“Yes, I am. I was looking forward to getting some real time with him. We barely see each other as it is, since he works every weekday, plus some weekends, and I work… well whenever I’m told to, as you well know.”

Draco nodded knowingly. That was how it was when you were a Healing resident. You were essentially beholden to your head resident (a fourth year who had been specially picked by the Senior Healers, and who was usually a pompous, self-important arse) and whatever schedule they chose to give you. It was possible to request certain days off, but you only got so many, and the head resident could always turn down the request.

“We’ve had a hard enough time finding weekends where we can overlap, is my point,” Hannah went on. “So I was counting on the holiday break for some real quality time with him. I would have to work some, I knew, but I’d be around at least half the time. And now he won’t be around at all.”

Pansy and Draco considered that.

“Are you allowed to visit him at Hogwarts over the holidays?” Pansy asked.

“Yes…” Hannah said, obviously knowing where this was going.

“And could your father come along with you?”

Hannah crossed her arms. “I suppose.”

“So, then, why not have Christmas at Hogwarts, just for this one year?”

Hannah looked at her darkly. “Neville suggested that, actually.”

Pansy arched a brow. “And you weren’t in favor?”

“I’m not… completely closed off to the idea,” Hannah admitted. “But there’s… it’s the principle of the thing. It feels like everything is on his terms right now. I visit him at Hogwarts a lot more than he comes to mine for his days off. And when I go visit him I’m just stuck in his rooms waiting around for him half the time and I… I feel like I’m bending over backwards to make this work and he’s not… It’s all about what he needs right now, and not about what I need, or what we both need. He’s being very… selfish.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I never thought I’d be sitting here accusing Neville Longbottom of being selfish, but there you are.”

“No one is simply one thing all the time, you know, Han,” said Draco. “Just selfish or just selfless. We’re all selfish sometimes. We couldn’t live our lives without a certain amount of selfishness.”

“So you’re saying I should just put up with it then?”

“No,” Draco replied patiently. “Because a person doesn’t get to be, or shouldn’t be, at least, selfish _all_ the time. He should be willing to compromise, meet you in the middle. We do that for the people we love.”

“Exactly,” Hannah said. “But he seems unwilling to compromise at this point and it makes me… I feel like… I’m scared that I’m more invested in this than he is. I mean, if he isn’t willing to ‘meet me in the middle,’ as you say, then doesn’t that mean he isn’t all that invested?”

“Or he’s simply not aware,” said Pansy. “He might not realize all that you’re doing for your relationship.”

“He _should_ realize,” Hannah grumbled.

“Yes, but he’s a man, and men are stupid.”

Draco snorted at that.

“Straight men, I mean,” Pansy corrected, patting Draco on the hand in a somewhat patronizing way. “They’re oblivious. There’s a very good chance he has no idea how upset or frustrated you are. You have to tell him outright. Men need that.”

Hannah bit her lip as she considered that. “I don’t want to cause a row.”

That was met with silence for a moment.

“Why not?” asked Pansy finally.

Hannah looked at her with wide eyes. “For the obvious reasons. It’s no fun at all, and it hurts the relationship.”

“Hurts the relationship?” Draco echoed, not understanding. “I’ll grant you the former, but all relationships require _some_ fighting.”

“You and Harry fight?”

“Not at all the time,” Draco said. “It usually doesn’t get that far. Everyday irritations are usually resolved quickly, so long as we are in the right mind to deal with them, you know, with basic communication. But yes, on occasion, we have an all out row. It doesn’t feel good in the moment, but sometimes things just need to be hashed out. Sometimes strong feelings just need to be expressed.”

“I would argue that it _can_ feel good to fight,” said Pansy. “Sometimes Theo and I just decide, like by mutual, unspoken understanding, that we need to do some yelling. It can be rather cathartic. And then afterwards we apologize and discuss what the real issue is and that’s that.”

Draco nodded in agreement. “That sounds about right. It doesn’t feel good in the same way that… I don’t know, sex, or any kind of intimacy does, but it’s sort of a relief.”

“I don’t understand,” said Hannah, and it was clear, by the confounded look on her face, that she genuinely didn’t.

“Do you mean to tell me that you and Longbottom have been together for four years now and you’ve never had a proper fight?” Pansy asked, aghast.

“We’ve had disagreements,” Hannah said defensively. “We’ve been short with each other and had to mend things after. But we’ve never outright screamed at each other. That would just be…” She shuddered. “That would be awful.”

 _Hufflepuffs_ , Draco thought, exchanging another look with Pansy.

“I think it’s time you and Longbottom had a fight. A real one,” Pansy said.

“A real one? You mean a screaming one?” Hannah looked at her two friends incredulously as they both nodded. “You can’t be serious.”

“Perfectly,” replied Pansy. “Doesn’t what he’s doing make you want to scream? Wouldn’t it feel good to just let it out?”

“I…” Hannah looked like she had no idea how to answer that. “You’re saying I should _cause_ a fight?”

“Well, you don’t have to force it,” said Draco. “You don’t have to pick a fight. But you _should_ tell him how you feel, straightforward like, no beating around the bush. If he gets upset and argues back, then you will likely get upset, and before you know it you’re properly fighting. Easy as that.”

“Yes,” Hannah said drily. “So easy.”

“Draco is right,” Pansy says. “Whether it leads to a fight or not, the important thing is that you express your feelings.”

“But what if we _do_ fight and it… and one or both of us gets hurt and we…” Hannah swallowed. “…we break up?”

“Then it was never going to last,” said Draco. “A relationship must be able to survive a bad fight. You’ll never survive living together or raising a family together or any of that without being able to recover from a fight.”

“But I love him,” she argued. “I don’t want to hurt him.”

“And he shouldn’t want to hurt you either, if he loves you,” Pansy pointed out. “But right now he _is_ , and he just doesn’t know it. So you need to tell him that he’s hurting you, and if he loves you then he’ll figure out how to make it right. And if he doesn’t then…” She trailed off, glancing at Draco.

“Then fuck him,” Draco filled in. “He’s not worth it.”

“Exactly,” said Pansy.

Hannah looked from Draco to Pansy and then back again. “You really are serious about this.”

“Yes,” they said together.

The Hufflepuff sighed. “How is it that you two know so much more about this than I do? You haven’t been with Harry or Theo all that much longer than I’ve been with Neville.”

“I’m married,” Pansy said. “And marriage is totally different than dating, even a serious commitment like you have. And Draco… well, he and Harry are practically married, in every way but name.”

“It’s true,” said Draco. ”We’ve been living together for four years. That changes things. But Harry and I also… we figured out a lot of this early on, mainly because there was so much baggage from our previous history that if we didn’t get it worked out we never would have been able to stay together.”

Hannah nodded. “That makes a lot of sense actually.” She stared into her drink. “I didn’t realize it before, but I think my relationship with Neville has developed a lot slower than other relationships have. Is that a bad thing?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said honestly. “I don’t think it has to be, as long as the relationship _is_ moving forward to some degree. But if you feel stuck, if you feel like it’s not going anywhere, then… that might be a bad sign.”

He watched Hannah take that in, feeling genuinely sad for her. He wasn’t Longbottom’s number one fan, but he wanted Hannah to be happy.

“I’m scared,” Hannah said softly. “I’m genuinely frightened.”

Pansy reached out and put her hand over Hannah’s, and Hannah shook herself, glancing up at them.

“Enough about this. I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

“All right,” said Draco, eyeing Hannah to make sure she meant it before moving on. “What would you like to talk about, then?”

“I want to talk about Blaise and Vesper,” Pansy said. Draco smiled. Those two were a common go-to conversation topic these days. “Did you know that a few weeks ago Blaise wrote Vesper a letter saying he wanted to get back together and she hasn’t responded?”

“Really?” Hannah and Draco both said at once.

“He never told me that,” said Draco, aware that he was pouting a little. “He hardly tells me anything anymore.”

“Because you don’t _ask_ ,” Pansy said. “You two aren't spending very much time together, and that’s mainly on you. If you reached out to him, he would respond.”

Draco scowled, knowing she was right. He and Blaise used to share everything, but that had changed, and Draco couldn’t quite pinpoint when. He would have to make more of an effort. The problem was, when would he find the _time_? Life was just too full.

“Tell us more about this letter,” Hannah said to Pansy, bringing Draco back to the present. “What exactly did it say?

So Pansy told them about it, which led to speculation about why Blaise had chosen to reach out now, after seeing Vesper with someone else, and what Vesper was playing at, not giving him an answer. Draco found himself getting sucked into the drama as usual and was quite enjoying himself, so much so that when he looked at his watch and realized that ten o’clock was nearly upon them, he had to stifle a groan of disappointment.

It wasn’t that he didn’t love Harry, but he _needed_ this, this connection with his friends. And drinks out for a couple of hours every few months just wasn’t going to cut it. And this was just with Pansy and Hannah. When was he supposed to find time to make things right with Blaise?

 _An issue for another day_ , he decided. He was feeling a bit weary after such a long shift, and the two glasses of whiskey he’d consumed weren’t helping with that. Maybe it was best he call it a night after all.

He informed the two women that he would have to be leaving, citing his promise to Harry to be home by ten, and though the women told him they wished he could stay they let him go without much fuss. Hugs and kisses were exchanged, as well as promises to see more of each other than they had been.

Draco left the bar and made his way to an Apparition point, feeling torn about his departure, but also looking forward to seeing Harry. Maybe he would get his feet rubbed. Harry was almost always willing to do that. Maybe, even better, Draco would get a thorough shagging. Harry was _always_ up for that, no ‘almost’ about it.

When he Apparated onto his front stoop he was already yawning and thinking about bed. He was so lost in his own thoughts that when he walked through the door he tripped over something and nearly fell.

“What the bloody…” Upon closer inspection Draco saw that it was one of Teddy’s Muggle dinosaur toys that made menacing noises when you pressed a button on its stomach. What was it doing in the middle of the foyer, he wondered.

But as he made his way down the hall it became immediately apparent that the dinosaur toy was not a lone anomaly. Teddy’s things were everywhere, puzzle pieces and toys scattered all over as though a storm had swept through the house. There was even a crayon wedged into the grate next to the sitting room doorway.

And then there was the kitchen, where there were still plates on the table (three, strangely), half eaten food still on them. The pots and pans on the range were dirty and a few soiled utensils and a cutting board were resting in the sink.

What the hell had happened here? He'd never seen the house like this. And where was Harry?

He called his partner's name, and it came out a bit louder and sharper than he intended. He realized, only a moment after, that if Teddy was asleep then Draco was in danger of waking him, yelling like that. He bit his lip.

"Fuck," He murmured to himself, feeling a stab of irritation. Because this was _so_ what he needed after two solid days of work: more work.

Deciding there was nothing for it - since it wouldn't do to leave food out overnight and attract bugs - Draco set to cleaning up, levitating the dishes over to the sink, scraping the food in the rubbish bin, and filling the sink with water. Figuring the caked up pots and pans would need a good soak (not even magic could help them when they were in that state), he left the kitchen momentarily to inspect the damage in the sitting room.

The crayon in the grate was only one casualty. Its cousins were scattered all over the sitting room floor, some banished to the farthest corners. In fact, it looked like Teddy had taken his entire massive box and dumped it out unceremoniously. 

He didn't understand it. Since when did Teddy treat his things this way? Since when did Harry _let_ him?

Heaving a sigh, he set about collecting them, summoning each crayon until they were all in a manageable pile in the center of the room. Now it was a matter of getting them back in the box properly, a task that, as far as he knew, there wasn't a spell for. He got to his knees on the floor and starting gathering the crayons by the handful.

A creaking of floorboards in the other room and a soft call of “Draco?” got his attention. He looked up to see Harry through the doorway, running hands through his hair and rubbing at his eyes. The man looked around a moment before he spotted Draco on the floor. “There you are," he said, coming closer until he was standing in the doorway. "I thought I'd heard you, but I was asleep so I couldn't be sure I hadn't imagined it."

Draco stared up at him in disbelief. Harry had been _asleep_ while this chaos was sitting here, waiting for him? It was barely past ten o'clock.

"Teddy's crayons," Harry said, his mouth tilting in a wry smile. "I'd forgotten about those." He looked around the room. "There aren't any marks on the walls, are there? I was worried-"

“Are you fucking _serious_ right now?" Draco asked, cutting him off. Harry blinked at him owlishly, as if he didn't fully understand. Which only annoyed Draco further. "This place is a fucking disaster. How the hell did it get like this? There are toys all over the house, and the _kitchen_ … I mean, what the hell, Harry, really. You honestly went to sleep knowing there was _food_ still sitting on the plates?”

Harry didn't respond, only stood there frozen, looking down at him.

Draco shook his head, returning to his task of stuffing the crayons back in the box with increasing ire. "This is not exactly what I was hoping to find when I came home tonight. I've been on my feet since Wednesday and the last thing I need is to come home to a total mess and with you nowhere in sight. Like _I'm_ the one who's in charge of cleaning this up." The box in front of him was bulging dangerously now, the crayons not aligning themselves right with the haste and force Draco was using. But he couldn't seem to help himself. "I just don't understand. With you working part time now, the least you could do is keep the house in order."

The last of the crayons were in, finally, and it was a sloppy job to be sure. But Draco couldn't find it in him to care. If Teddy wanted to arrange them how he wanted them, then he damn well could.

“You think that I work part time?” Harry asked into the thick silence, his voice quiet but clear.

Draco looked up again, confused. “What?”

“You seem to be under the impression that I work _part time_ ,” Harry said, spitting the final words like they tasted bitter in his mouth. “Well you can just go right to hell, then."

Momentarily shocked numb by the venom in Harry's words, Draco stood, his eyes not leaving Harry's. "Excuse me?"

 _"Part_ _time_ , Draco?" Harry repeated incredulously, seemingly hung up on that phrase. "You really think that's what this is? I have news for you. I work _all_ the fucking time. I never stop. I never get a break. I’m _always_ on, even when I’m home. _Especially_ when I'm home. Because parenting is a full time fucking job on top of being at work for most of the day. It is literally nonstop for me, you have no fucking idea-"

“Please!” Draco interrupted. "Please do not stand there and act like I don't know what it feels like to work nonstop. Where do you think I've been for the past forty-eight hours, huh? On holiday? Do _you_ have any idea how little break time I've gotten the past two days, how little sleep?" Harry shook his head, like he didn't believe was what Draco was saying, and it only made him angrier. Was Harry really trying to compare _workload_ right now? “I’m always either here or at work, so we’re in the same fucking situation, except that I work more hours while you get to be home-“

“ _Don’t_ even give me that shit,” Harry said, stepping closer, getting in his face. “Because you don’t even fucking _know_ what it’s like to be here on your own, taking care of everything. You know why? Because whenever you’re home, I’m always here too. It’s totally fucking different when you’re totally alone and everything is up to you. You have no idea. And you know what else? During the day, when you’re home, when I’m at work and Teddy is at school, you get to be really off. You get to do what you want. I _never_ have that. I never even get to be alone. Ever. And when I do come home from work I’m still the one who has to cook and clean and change the fucking light bulbs because you don’t fucking know how and do _everything_ , while you play with Teddy and read to him and do the fun stuff, the easy stuff. You get to be the fun parent and I get to be the bloody house elf.”

Draco let out a humorless, disbelieving laugh. “The fun stuff, huh? That is just fucking... That is low, you know, talking like I don't contribute. That is so unfair. I do the best I can here. I do everything you ask of me."

"When it suits you," Harry said. "You do everything you already know how to do, when it suits you. But the moment it's a little bit confusing, or unfamiliar, or, Merlin forbid, as _tedious_ as picking up some fucking crayons, suddenly I'm asking too much."

Draco had to turn away then, too overwhelmed by the injustice of it all. And the confusion. _Where is all this coming from?_ "So is that was this is?” he asked, turning back, gesturing around the room at the remaining mess. “Some kind of punishment or something? Forcing me to clean up so I know what it feels like?”

Harry snorted derisively. "Not everything is about you, you know," he said, and that stung more than Draco cared to admit. “This has nothing to do with you. This,” he imitated Draco's gesture, “is the result of me foolishly letting Teddy have a friend over after school. He was an absolute nightmare of a child and he made a complete mess of everything, wearing out both me _and_ Teddy when we were already tired enough. I was _going_ to get to it after I put Teddy to bed, but I fell asleep because I was so tired I couldn’t keep my eyes open. _That’s_ what happened. It’s never like this otherwise, and you know it, so don’t go strutting around acting self-righteous about it because I keep this place fucking _spotless._ With very little help from anyone else.”

Draco bit back his automatic response, making himself absorb Harry's explanation. Because he hadn't come home wanting a fight. He'd come home wanting to snuggle up in bed with Harry and finally relax after a difficult shift. And here they were practically screaming at each other. It was a miracle that hadn't woken Teddy up already. “Why were you so tired?” he asked, making his tone softer in the hopes that it would dispel some of the tension. “Have you not been sleeping?”

Draco was surprised to see something like guilt cross Harry’s face for a moment. “It was Teddy. He was ill all last night.”

“Ill?” Draco said, suddenly worried. “With what? Did he catch something at school? Or was it something he ate?”

“No, nothing like that,” said Harry. “It was…” He ran a hand across his forehead. “We went to see Andromeda yesterday, and she got sick while we were there and Teddy, well, it upset him, I suppose. He made himself sick with worry, essentially, threw up all night long.”

“Harry,” Draco said, unable to keep the frustration out of his voice. “I thought we talked about this. I _told_ you-“

“I know you told me,” Harry replied, gritting his teeth. “But it was getting unbearable listening to him constantly ask to see her. He was practically begging me this week about it. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“You put your foot down and tell him to be patient.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to listen to him day in and day out-“

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I am _not_ exaggerating,” Harry said, looking at him with hard eyes. “You just wouldn’t know because you’re never fucking here to hear it.”

“And we’re back there again, are we?” Draco said, feeling his anger flare up once more. “What do you want me to do? Quit my job? I don’t have a _choice_. This was how life was going to be for a few years and I told you that. I know everything changed and got harder once we took in Teddy but I’m doing the best I can here. I’m home just about every minute that I’m not at the hospital.”

“Not tonight,” Harry said accusingly.

Draco scoffed. “Are you honestly going to hold _two whole hours_ against me, Harry? That’s all it was. Just two hours to see friends I haven’t seen in ages. I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

“I understand how you feel,” Harry said, though his tone was still harsh. “Do you know what I would give to spend two hours out with friends? I haven’t had that since Teddy moved in. And I know you haven’t either,” he added quickly, cutting off Draco’s protests. “And obviously I understand why you would take the opportunity when it presented itself. But the difference between you and me is that I can’t just decide to take off for two hours, because I’m _expected_ to be here for Teddy. That's what this has turned into. I'm always the one who's expected to be here. I can't just pop off with Hermione after work at the last minute and decide I'm going to leave you high and dry to sort out dinner with Teddy. If I did that, you would be livid, wouldn't you? If I didn't even _ask_ you if it was all right, but instead just informed you that you were on your own? Honestly, Draco. How would you feel if I did that to you?"

Draco scowled but answered honestly. “I would feel… disregarded. Taken for granted.”

“Yes,” said Harry. “You would. And that’s how I felt when you did it to me. I’m expected to be here all the time. I don’t get to choose to take a break. So the least you could have done is _ask_ me. A floo call wouldn’t have killed you, you know.”

Draco thought about that. It was true that while Draco had never felt the need to ask permission to go out back when it was just the two of them (he hardly wanted to set _that_ sort of precedent in their relationship), circumstances had changed, and he could see Harry’s point.

“All right,” he said. “I hear you. But I want you to stop talking like I’m never here. Because I am here. Just about whenever I can be.”

“I know,” said Harry, not meeting Draco's eyes. “But it’s not nearly enough.”

“That’s not fair,” Draco replied. “That is just… it’s not fair, Harry. I'm at a pivotal moment in my career, and you know how important this is to me. To be able to do something good, to be able to give back, to make up for...” He swallowed, realizing that a lump was forming in his throat. "I don't think it's fair for you to disregard that either, because what I'm doing is really important and I can't just throw it all way now. I can't."

“I know," Harry said softly, still looking at anything but Draco. "Believe me, I know that. But..." He face tilted towards the ceiling, and Draco could catch the shimmer of wetness forming in his eyes. "What I do is important too,” he said finally. “I know I’m not saving lives or anything, but it matters. I..." He swallowed. "I _matter_.“ His voice broke on the last word, and the first tear spilled. Draco's heart clenched, realizing that there was so much more to this than he had first thought. Harry dashed a hand across his cheek, but it was a losing battle. More tears were already falling. "Right now, with you, I don't feel like I do. I don’t…" His face scrunched up, and he buried it in his hands. "Fuck," he murmured, almost to himself. "I really don't think I can talk about this any more tonight. There’s so much more to say and I just… I can’t do it. I’m so fucking tired. I have nothing left.” His voice cracked again, this time in an unmistakeable sob.

“Harry…” Draco said, coming closer, reaching for him.

But Harry took a step back, flinching away from him, his hands held up in a gesture that said, very plainly, "Don't touch me."

Draco tried not to let that hurt, but Harry's rejection was clear. "Harry," he said again, pleadingly.

"I can't do this right now. I can't. Let me just... You go on to bed, all right? I'll get this place sorted."

And with that Harry turned away, heading back into the kitchen and leaving Draco standing there, the bloated box of crayons still at his feet. He looked down at it, taking a couple of shaky breaths while he considered what the hell he was supposed to do now. He could hear the water running in the sink and the clatter of pots and pans. Harry was doing the dishes.

He couldn't leave it like this, that much he knew. And yet he was still at a loss as to how to proceed. This was a version of Harry that Draco was unfamiliar with. He'd seen Harry irritated, frustrated, angry, more times than he could count. The man had quite a temper and didn't usually hold back. But when he got that way he would usually take a step back, ask for space to calm down. He'd go for a walk around the block or into his study and shut the door. In those cases, Draco had learned to trust that Harry would emerge again soon, ready to talk. Given the space, Harry could manage his temper well, and Draco was fine with giving him that space.

But _this_ Harry, this was different. This Harry was subdued, defeated, almost... resigned. Draco had no idea what to do with that, and that frightened him. What did Harry want from him? How did he make this right?

 _I matter_ , he'd said, almost like he was willing it to be true. Almost like a part of him didn't believe it. As if there was any doubt. 

_Right now, with you, I don't feel like I do._ Draco closed his eyes, remembering those words, trying to figure out how he even began to reckon with that, with what Harry was telling him.

_Not everything is about you._

Draco let out a slow breath. "Shit," he hissed. Somewhere along the way, it had all gone wrong. He had gone wrong, without even knowing it. " _Shit._ " 

Stomach churning, Draco made his way into the kitchen. Harry was there, at the sink, scrubbing away. If he heard Draco approaching, he showed no sign of it. Slowly, cautiously, Draco came up behind him and reached out with both arms, resting his hands over Harry’s in the soapy water. He felt his partner stiffen under his embrace, but he pressed closer to him.

“I'm sorry,” Draco said, aware that his voice was tight with emotion. “I'm so sorry." He received no answer, and he pressed his nose against the back of Harrys neck and nuzzled softly. “Don't push me away. I can’t bear it. Please. I don't know what I would do if..." He sighed, hoping the words he wanted to say were the ones Harry wanted to hear. "You _do_ matter to me, Harry. You are the only thing that matters. You and Teddy. You’re the thing I can’t stand to lose. I'm so sorry if I've made you feel like you don't. I never... I just need to know how to make it right, how to fix this.”

He felt Harry relax a little into Draco’s embrace, and relief washed through him as Harry pressed back against him. Draco kissed his neck lightly, his lips barely grazing the skin.

“You’re not going to lose me, Draco,” Harry finally replied, his tone no longer defeated but rather holding some lingering frustration. Draco decided to take that as a good sign. “I never said you would. And I don’t want you to give up being a Healer, or stop seeing your friends. I just want you to understand what it’s like for me here, how much work I have to do when you’re not around. And I _really_ don’t like being lectured like a child about keeping the house clean. It makes me feel like shit. I’ve been taking care of myself my entire life and I know what I’m doing.”

“I know,” Draco said. “I was out of line. I was… there’s no excuse, of course. I was just frustrated and tired too, and I took it out on you. I'm sorry. I really am. You do so much and… I just never realized you were having such hard time. You never told me.”

“I know. I should... I should have said something before. But it’s not usually this hard,” Harry said. “Or... I don't know. Maybe it's been building for a while and I hadn't even realized it. Until this week. It was just… it was really rough. And I felt totally alone. I feel alone so much of the time.”

Draco’s embrace tightened around Harry. He pulled Harry’s hands out of the sink, removing the spatula that he was holding on to and drying the hands with a quick spell. Then he turned Harry around, clasping his hands in his own.

“It’s really hard to hear you say that. I know you’re not saying it to hurt me, but it hurts me anyway. I _never_ want you to feel like you’re alone.”

Harry stared at their clasped hands and said nothing.

“But obviously you do. Obviously we have to change the way we've been doing this. You’ve taken on too much. We’ve… I’ve given you too much of the burden to carry here. But we can do something about that. That's a problem that's easily fixable.”

Harry looked up at him, finally, though he simply looked confused. “How so?”

“I think we should finally get another house elf.”

Whatever Harry had been expecting, it clearly wasn’t that, because he pulled away slightly. Draco didn’t let him get far, though, still gripping Harry’s hands tightly.

“No, hear me out, please,” he insisted. “Because there’s nothing I can do about my schedule. It will get better over time, we know that, but right now… I have almost no control. And every time I ask for more time off or certain days off I lose some leverage with my head resident. But it’s obvious that asking you to do everything for Teddy half the week _and_ cook _and_ clean _and_ manage everything else is too much. A house elf can take care of a lot of that. You could have so much more free time.”

“I’m not going to have a house elf raise our children, Draco,” Harry said, sounding disapproving. “And I don’t know how I feel about Teddy growing up with a servant who does everything for him.”

“I’m not _talking_ about that,” Draco said, choosing to ignore the slight dig at the way he himself was raised. “I’m talking about you not having to worry about whether the house is clean or cooking meals every night. If you feel like cooking, you can, and we can still make sure that Teddy knows to clean up after himself. It doesn’t have to make him spoiled. It would be for _you_ , to ease some of the burden, to save you from some of the things you don’t like to do and let you do more of the things you do like, the ‘fun stuff,’ as you say. It will give you more time to spend with Teddy. And on the days I’m home, you could even go over to Ron and Hermione’s for dinner, if you wanted. You could take some time off, time for just you.”

“I wouldn’t want to just leave you,” Harry said softly.

Draco smiled, though he knew it was a bit watery. “Well, we wouldn’t want you to _all_ the time. We would miss you. But every now and then, it would be fine, wouldn’t it? It would give me more alone time with Teddy as well, and I think that could be good for us. He’s aware that you’re his primary caretaker right now and I think it would help if he understood that I was here for him too, and that you aren’t always going to be around every second of every day. I want him to know he can depend on me as well.”

Harry sighed. “Hermione will be absolutely beside herself if we get a house elf. We’ll never hear the end of it.”

“We'll try to find a house elf that will accept wages, then. And if we can't... we'll just have to let her be upset, if that’s how she wants to handle it,” Draco said, aware that his tone had turned stubborn. “But Hermione Granger doesn’t tell me how to live my life. And if this is what you need, if this will make things easier for you and let you get some rest and some time to yourself on occasion, then I’m willing to put up with a few lectures from her. She’s not _that_ scary.”

That got a small laugh from Harry, plus something mumbled about third year and _some_ Slytherin prat who got on Hermione’s bad side and got a punch to the face. Draco ignored the mumbling.

“Would a house elf make things easier?” he pressed.

Harry sighed heavily. “Yes, it would. Of course it would.”

“Then we’ll get one. We’ll get one right away.”

Harry considered that a moment. “All right. I admit it’s a good idea. But I don’t want you to get the impression that getting an elf is going to instantly fix everything. There are other things we need to deal with here. Things about us.”

Draco’s stomach flipped. “Us? As in you and me?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, meeting his eyes. “Are you saying you haven’t noticed how…” He paused, seeming to search for the word. “How disconnected we are? It’s like… there’s a Muggle phrase: ‘ships passing in the night.’ It’s like we see each other but we’re never really _with_ each other. Instead we’re working or taking care of Teddy or doing all of the things we have to do, and we barely have time to spend with each other and it all builds up until we fuck like kneazles because we can’t keep our hands off each other, and we think that we’re connecting, but we’re not. Not really. I mean, when was the last time we properly _talked_ , not about Teddy or Andromeda or work or any of that, but just… for fun? Just to talk. When was the last time we sat around and made each other laugh just because we can? When was the last time we went and did something new, something interesting, something outside of this bloody _house_ , just the two of us? It’s like our entire relationship has been boiled down to taking care of other people and keeping our careers afloat. And I just… I can’t do it that way anymore. I _miss_ you.”

Draco stared at him, taking all that in. In truth, he hadn’t given much thought to that feeling that Harry was putting a name to, mostly because it scared him too much. He’d repressed it, worried about what it meant, worried that acknowledging it aloud would break them, somehow. How bloody _stupid_ that was. Because now that Harry had finally said it, the only thing Draco felt was relief.

He clutched Harry gently by the throat with both hands, running his fingers into the silky hair in the back of Harry’s head. “I miss you too,” he said. “So much. So much I couldn’t even examine it too closely, because it… it hurt to think about.” He pressed his forehead to Harry’s, and they remained that way for a minute, eyes closed, sharing breath. “We’ll make time. We’ll make time for ourselves. Now that Teddy’s had over a month to get settled, he can handle staying away from us on the occasional night. He can sleep over at a friend’s or stay with Hermione and Ron, or with Molly, or my mother. We can find time for us.”

Harry ducked his head and pressed closer to Draco, nuzzling against his collarbone and wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist. Draco encircled Harry in his arms and held him tight. “All right,” Harry breathed into Draco’s neck. “All right.”

He pulled away and they stared at each other for a moment before Harry closed the gap and kissed him softly, tenderly. Draco kissed him back with a hum, cupping Harry’s face with his hand.

“I meant what I said,” Draco whispered when he pulled away. “You’re the only thing that matters to me. You are everything.”

Harry shook his head. “I don’t need to be the only thing, Draco. Other things matter to you. I know they do. And that’s all right. So long as I’m up there with the rest of them, that’s all I need.”

“You are,” Draco assured him. “At the very top. And yes, other things matter, but they would still mean very little to me if I didn’t have you to share them with.”

Harry kissed him again, and they got lost in each other for a while. It wasn’t with the kind of inflamed passion that built to something more, that built to sex. It was slow and gentle, an exploration, the sort of thing they had not allowed themselves in a long time. Draco found himself relishing it, the taste of Harry, the smell of him, the solidness of his body. It reminded Draco in a visceral way just how truly he belonged here, with Harry.

When their lips finally parted they simply stood there a moment, smiling softly at each other.

“You're exhausted,” Draco said finally. “I can finish up in here and you can go on to bed.”

“No, that’s all right,” said Harry. “Let’s just clean together. It will be faster that way.”

“All right, but the kitchen only. I think Teddy should have to help with his toys tomorrow morning once he’s up.”

“Agreed,” replied Harry.

Harry finished washing the pots and pans while Draco loaded the dishwasher and wiped down the counters. Soon the kitchen was clean once again. They decided to go straight to bed, climbing in in nothing but their pants and immediately snuggling up chest to chest. Draco groaned at the contact, loving the way Harry wrapped a leg around his and pressed himself as close as he could.

“Are you going to get the lamp?” Harry asked him, his breath tickling against Draco’s pulse.

“Mmm,” Draco replied, not particularly wanting to move. “In a moment.”

He felt Harry’s chuckle vibrate on his skin, and he smiled.

“I had an idea, actually,” Draco added. “One that might get Hermione off our backs about the house elf issue.”

“Oh yeah?” Harry said, pulling back enough to look at him. “What’s that?”

“Well, there’s been a standing offer from my mother for years for us to take one of her house elves if we want to. She hasn’t mentioned it in a while but I’m sure if we ask she would be happy to give us one. She’s only at the manor part time anyway, and even when she is it’s only her and Philippe. They have at least five elves at this point, more than they need, I know.”

Harry considered that. “And you think Hermione won’t be able to tell us off because we will be using an elf that was already… employed?”

“Exactly. And we'll still offer to pay them, of course.”

“Hm,” said Harry. “That might work.”

“I think it will. And if it doesn’t, oh well. She’ll be put out and we'll just have to deal with it.”

Harry laughed sardonically. “Easy for you to say. I’ll likely be the one who gets the brunt of it.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Draco replied. “She’s pretty comfortable with me at this point. I don’t think she has any qualms about telling me off.”

Harry snorted. “I suppose you’re right.” He kissed Draco’s collarbone. “Which house elf will we get, do you think?”

“Well, I imagine if we wanted we could choose any of them. I don’t think Mother has an attachment to any particular one.”

“Could we have Pipsy?” Harry’s voice was almost shy, his smile demure. It was an unusual manner for him, but Draco found there was something about it that made his cock twitch. He looked young and sweet like that, with his head tilted and his eyes hooded and heavily lashed.

“I imagine we could take Pipsy, yes, if you’d like.”

“I would,” said Harry, still looking at Draco coyly. “I’d like that very much.” He actually seemed to bat his lashes for a moment, something he only ever did ironically, most of the time.

“Are you _trying_ to be unbearably adorable?” Draco asked him. “Or is this just what happens when you haven’t had any sleep?”

“The latter, I think,” said Harry. “Is that what I am? Adorable?”

“Unbearably. Which I think you actually know full well and therefore are just toying with me.”

“Who? Me? I would never.” Harry buried his face in the pillow to hide his smile.

“You’re being utterly ridiculous,” Draco told him. “And not in the usual way.”

“The usual way?” Harry asked, lifting his head. “What way is that?”

“You know, being a cheeky git.” Harry scowled at him, but rather than looking menacing it just made him look like a pouty child. “Don’t give me that look,” Draco argued. “You _like_ being a cheeky git.”

Harry fought a grin again. “Yes, I do.” He squirmed and wiggled for a moment, seemingly for no reason, making him look more like a child Teddy’s age than a grown man. “I don’t know what it is,” he said. “I feel strange all of a sudden. It’s not dissimilar to how I felt that time I took Felix Felicis.”

“It’s the lack of sleep,” Draco said. “It’s making you punch-drunk.”

“Mm,” Harry agreed vaguely, blinking.

“You should get some rest,” Draco told him, kissing him on the nose.

Harry pursed his lips. “But what if I want to do something else?”

It took a moment for Draco to realize what Harry meant.

“Do you really think you have the energy for that right now?” Draco asked with the arch of a brow. He was torn about how he wanted Harry to answer that. He could feel that his cock was half-hard already, a natural result of being this close to Harry and not having shagged him in days. On the other hand, Harry did need the rest.

“I do if _you_ fuck _me_ ,” Harry said, his voice deepening. The slaphappy expression on his face was gone and was replaced by something much hotter. His eyes were wide and staring at Draco, and there was a devilish little twinkle in them that had Draco swallowing.

“That’s what you want?” he asked hoarsely. “Are you sure?” The two men had switched roles before, but it was only on occasion, maybe a few times a year. They were quite happy with their normal roles most of the time, but once in a while Harry would come home and asked to be taken, usually because he’d had an especially hard day and wanted to lose himself. This was apparently one of those days.

Harry nodded in response to Draco’s question and slid closer so they were flush against each other, their erections colliding through their underwear. “I want to feel you inside me, Draco. I _need_ it. I want you so deep it feels like you’re a part of me.”

Draco groaned and met Harry’s tongue with his own. He didn’t know how Harry had managed to go from silly to seductive in a matter of seconds, but it was working for him. He suddenly wanted Harry very, very badly.

Harry’s kisses were slow but sensual, stoking the aching burn in Draco’s gut. That combined with the sharp pleasure he felt when Harry pressed forward and ground their erections together again had Draco reeling with need.

He grabbed his wand and vanished their underwear, which earned a gasp from Harry. Then he cast cleansing and lubricating charms in order to prepare the brunet, sliding one finger inside the waiting heat of Harry’s entrance.

 _He’s so tight_ , he thought as he inserted a second finger and Harry moaned. They did this so little that Harry’s arse still felt virginal, to some degree. He had a sudden flash of the night when they’d first switched roles, when they were still students at Hogwarts. That was still on the list of the best nights of Draco’s life. Slipping inside of Harry had been a revelation. Completely different from bottoming, from what he usually liked, but absolutely brilliant nonetheless. He’d already known that Harry was the one, by that point. He already knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with the Gryffindor. But that night was the night he let go of the last of his fears. That was the night he knew for sure that he and Harry belonged together and always would.

“Please, Draco,” Harry whispered as Draco’s fingers scissored open and closed, stretching him.

“Patience, love,” Draco replied softly against the musky skin of Harry’s shoulder. He had to smile at how thoroughly they reversed roles, when they did this. Draco was usually the one begging (he liked to beg; it made him feel wanton), and Harry, who liked the control, the heady power, was the one assuring him, readying him, in charge of the situation. “Just relax,” he said, saying the things he most liked to hear himself. “Let me take care of you.”

Harry did relax, giving in completely to the motions of Draco’s fingers inside him. Draco watched in awe and admiration as Harry gasped and licked his lips, his eyes closed and his neck arching back. When Draco brushed his prostate Harry made a sound almost like a sob, only it was so erotic and needy that Draco had to grab the base of his own cock to make sure he didn’t come then and there.

Once he’d calmed down and gotten control of his own desire, he decided it was time.

“Turn around,” he whispered in Harry’s ear. “I want to hold you.”

Harry looked slightly confused but did as he was told, immediately pushing his arse against Draco’s groin once he was lying on his side, facing away from Draco. The blond chuckled at his impatience and took a moment to lube up his own cock. Then he positioned himself, took hold of Harry around the waist, and slowly pressed forward.

Harry was relaxed and ready for him, and Draco was able to sheath himself fully with ease. He paused there, though, as usual, partially for Harry to adjust but also for himself. It felt _so fucking good_ , the way Harry’s arse cradled him, the muscles twitching slightly, squeezing him deliciously and pulling him further inside.

“Gods,” Draco breathed against the back of Harry’s neck. They were going to have to go slow. That was the only way he was going to last.

Harry reached back with one hand and gave Draco’s thigh a squeeze. “Take me, Draco,” he said breathlessly. “I need you.”

Draco nodded and pulled out slowly. Then he pushed back in, and they both moaned. Draco did it again, and then again, and then again, keeping it achingly slow, loving the pull in his cock as he moved in and out, the way the burn in his gut intensified degree by degree, the way Harry arched, and trembled, and whispered his name. His lips played along Harry’s neck and shoulder as he worked, whispering back to him words of love and admiration.

“So good… So beautiful… Love you this way… Perfect… My Harry. My love.”

Draco and Harry both began to tremble with need, drawing closer and closer to release. Draco hooked his heel around Harry’s ankle to brace himself as his thrusts became faster, aware that the intense, focused pleasure in his cock had his hips stuttering. He needed control, at least enough to find Harry’s sweet spot and torment it a little. He wanted Harry to come undone in his arms, the way Draco himself so often did while at the mercy of Harry’s expert lovemaking.

A few thrusts later he found it and Harry cried out, so Draco aimed there again, this time slowing down, thrusting minutely so as to rub that spot over and over. Harry seemed to lose all sense, his words incoherent as he writhed against Draco, and Draco smiled against his skin, continuing the focused movements until Harry was begging without restraint.

“Gods…. Fuck… Draco… need… got to… please…come… got to… come… please.”

Taking mercy on him, Draco reached around and took a hold of Harry’s cock, which was rock hard, heavy, and leaking precum all over itself and the sheets. He kept up his current pace as he stroked Harry slowly, knowing it wouldn’t take much.

“Come for me, Harry,” he said in the man’s ear. “Come just for me. It’s all right. I’ve got you.”

It seemed all Harry needed was the permission, because after only a few more strokes he stilled, shuddering against Draco’s hand as he came and came, moaning Draco’s name over and over. Draco tried to keep up the thrusts, wanting to prolong Harry’s orgasm as much as possible, but those strong muscles and the sounds of Harry in the throes of bliss proved too much, and Draco was brought over the edge with a powerful surge of pleasure as he emptied into Harry.

He relaxed against the pillow just as Harry did, but remained inside, thrusting just a little more as his cock continued to pulse in the aftershocks of his climax.

“Fuck, that was good,” he said, kissing Harry’s skin, licking up the little droplets of sweat. When he was finally spent he pulled out carefully, eliciting a small groan from his lover, though Harry didn’t move at all. Draco reached for his wand to clean them off, then doused the lamp with a quick flip of a switch.

“I love you,” he whispered into the dark as he retook his place against Harry’s back.

There was no reply. Harry was already asleep. But Draco didn’t need one. He already knew.

***

Draco woke first the next morning. Of that he was sure, before he even opened his eyes. He could hear Harry’s even breathing, feel his still and languid body pressed against his own.

He opened his eyes, blinking, and immediately saw the back of Harry’s shaggy head only inches from him. He propped himself up on his elbow to get a good look at the Gryffindor’s face, and found it relaxed in sleep, as he had expected. Happiness stirred within him, the lazy, mellow kind that only came in the mornings, when you awoke beside a lover who you knew was yours completely.

Last night had been difficult. Draco couldn’t help but think it ironic that he had lectured Hannah about the importance of fighting and then had gone home to fight with Harry. But he and Pansy had also been right. Sometimes you just have to fight, to know where you stand. And now he felt he understood Harry so much better, though he had not believed that possible.

Harry was naturally selfless, that Draco already knew. He counted the needs, desires, and safety of others above his own. It made him a wonderful partner, of course, and a fantastic father, but Draco had finally gotten a real glimpse into the downside of that selflessness. Harry would just keep giving, keep taking care of everyone else above himself, until he had nothing left to give. But he wasn’t a saint; he had needs, too, and that much sacrifice on his part would of course start to breed resentment. And Draco wanted to avoid that at all costs. Resentment was corrosive. It was one of the few things Draco believed could truly destroy them.

 _I need to be better about taking care of him as well_. He had been, in the early stages of their relationship. Harry had needed a lot of support back then as he tried to figure out what he wanted to do with his life. But once he’d taken the job at the DTF and he and Draco had moved in together, Harry hadn’t needed much beyond just the everyday enjoyment of being with Draco. He was quite content, and took on the role of taking care of Draco, who was now the one with the more stressful life, with gusto.

The problem was, introducing Teddy into the mix had stretched Harry too thin. He was trying to take care of the needs of a five year old while simultaneously keeping up with same impeccable care that Draco had come to expect. Even having cared for Teddy all day, Harry still found time to cook Draco the food he liked and rub his feet in the evenings, on top of all the other little things he did. And the worst part of it was Draco hadn’t even noticed. He’d been too focused on how hard things were for him.

 _Selfish, as usual_ , he chastised himself. He had made a commitment, long ago, to be better about that, to be worthy of Harry and his generous heart. And now he could see that he had been falling down on the job. Harry's words from the night before had hurt, but mostly because they rang true. It was not a pleasant revelation, having all of his selfish habits revealed in one go.

 _But I will be better,_ he thought with determination. If there was one thing he did know, it was that he would do anything for Harry. He could be better, for Harry.

The man in question finally stirred next to him and rolled over to face Draco. He nuzzled into the pillow and made the sweet little chirruping noises of a person half awake. Draco smiled, watching him, happiness curling in his belly once more.

It took another minute, but Harry finally opened his eyes. He stretched, groaning a little (likely noting the unusual soreness in his arse, Draco speculated with a secret little smile), and looked at Draco.

“Morning,” he said hoarsely.

Gods, how Draco loved the sound of Harry’s voice just upon waking. It made him hard instantly.

“Good morning,” he replied.

“What time is it?” Harry looked around at the clock, noting that it was not quite half past seven. He lay his head down again on his pillow. “I’m surprised Teddy hasn’t come and woken us by now. He was anxious to see you.”

“You mentioned he didn’t sleep much Thursday night,” said Draco. “Perhaps he’s catching up on sleep at the moment.”

“Mm,” said Harry. “Perhaps.” To Draco’s surprise and amusement, Harry lifted the covers to get a look at both of their naked bodies. “Thought so,” he said. “I suppose we should at least put pants on, just in case.”

Draco swallowed his disappointment. He would much rather have found a way to take care of the morning wood he was currently sporting, preferably with Harry buried bollocks deep in his arse. But he knew Harry was right. It was likely only a matter of time before Teddy came in to say good morning, and he didn’t particularly want to be completely naked for that.

“Very well,” he agreed. They both climbed out of bed and put on underwear and joggers, though they remained shirtless, which mollified Draco a little. At least he would get to enjoy some of Harry’s bare skin.

They climbed back in bed and lay facing each other, their mouths curving in small smiles.

“It would be so nice to have a proper night together again,” said Draco. “One where we can go to bed naked and wake up naked and shag all we want without worrying about being interrupted.”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed with a sigh. “That would be nice.”

“Well, our anniversary _is_ coming up, you know,” said Draco. “And it’s on a Saturday. That would be a good excuse to get some time to ourselves. We could send Teddy off somewhere.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “I thought you said you weren’t sure if you’d have our anniversary off this year.”

“I’ve decided I’m going to make sure I do. I’ll make sure I have the entire bloody weekend, Friday to Sunday. I’ll take vacation days if I have to.”

Harry stared at him. “I don’t want you to make trouble for yourself at work. That’s not what I meant when I said we need to find a way to have more time together.”

“I know, but I want this. We need some real time to ourselves, some time to just… _be_. I think we should send Teddy to stay with someone for the weekend and just stay in at Grimmauld. We’ll have the house elf by then who can cook and clean for us and we can just talk and relax and shag and only go out if we feel like it.”

Harry hummed. “That sounds quite lovely, actually.”

“I know.”

“Where do you think we should send Teddy? Where would he most want to go?”

“Well, we could always ask him. But I would imagine he’d most want to stay with a friend. What about that Toby Goldstein? He stayed here once, didn’t he, and Teddy liked that.”

“I’m sure Teddy would enjoy that. He _did_ say he wanted to marry the boy, after all.” Harry chuckled. “But I don’t know how Toby’s parents would feel about having him for a whole weekend. I don’t know them that well yet.”

Draco nodded, seeing the logic of that. “Well, my mother may be willing. Since she and Philippe have decided not to go to France until after the holidays. She’s around and hasn’t much to do besides spend time with Andromeda.”

“And Molly and Arthur would also surely take him,” Harry added.

Draco thought a moment. “What about Bill and Fleur? I know it seems like a lot, pawning Teddy off on them when they already have the girls, but Teddy and Victoire get along so well. I bet he’d have fun there.”

Harry thought that over. “Well, it couldn’t hurt to ask,” he said with a small shrug.

“I suppose you wouldn’t want him to stay with the so-called ‘nightmare child,’ would you?” Draco asked, amused.

“Liam?” Harry asked. “I really did say ‘nightmare child,’ didn’t I?” He sighed. “Perhaps that’s a bit mean. But he was quite… difficult. I imagine because he doesn’t get enough attention at home.”

“His parents are neglectful?”

“Not on purpose,” said Harry. “It’s just the mum, and she appears to be doing it all on her own and working a full time job as well. I don’t know all the details of the situation but she seemed quite overwhelmed the little I spoke with her. I got the impression she doesn’t have a lot of people to turn to.”

Harry’s voice sounded sad, and Draco ran a finger lightly across Harry’s cheek and then down to his lips. Harry watched him, his expression soft.

“You know you have people to turn to, right?” Draco asked.

Harry gave him a small smile and then kissed his fingers. “Yes, I know. She and I are in quite different situations. It just makes me feel bad for her, is all. And a part of me wants to help, just like Teddy did for Liam because Liam was getting picked on at school. But on the other hand, I have so many things in my own life to worry about, so much to do and people to take care of…” He trailed off, looking guilty.

“You can’t save everyone, Harry,” Draco said. “As much as you may want to.”

Harry sighed despondently. “I know.”

Draco swallowed, his heart feeling heavy in his chest, full, like it couldn’t contain everything he felt for the man lying next to him. “I love you _so much_ ,” he said simply.

Harry smiled, wider this time, and slid closer to him. “I know. I love you too. So much."

Draco sighed. "What a lucky bastard I am," he said, which made Harry laugh.

“That makes two of us, then.” Harry kissed him, setting the pace nice and slow, taking his time. Draco began to feel the return of his erection as Harry pressed against him.

“I love you, Draco,” Harry said against his mouth. “For always.”

Draco moaned and deepened the kiss, his need for Harry growing. Harry had wrapped his arms around Draco’s waist and was stroking his back lightly, sending shivers across Draco’s pale skin.

It was just starting to get really good, as Harry ground against him, when there was a soft chime coming from the door, indicating that a certain five-year-old was officially up and out of bed. The two men pulled apart, adjusting themselves.

“Here comes Teddy,” Harry said. “Just in time.”

“Better than if we’d already started shagging, I suppose,” Draco said, and Harry snorted in amusement.

Only a moment later the door opened slowly, creaking as it went, and Teddy’s little head appeared, his face wearing an unsure expression. It immediately broke into a wide grin when he saw that Draco was home and both he and Harry were awake.

“Draco!” he cried, hurrying to the bed and flinging himself at the blond.

“Good morning, Teddy,” Draco said, wrapping the little boy in his arms. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too. I was going to wait last night so you could read to me, but I fell asleep. I tried to stay up, but… I couldn’t do it.” He stared up into Draco’s face with a guilty expression.

Draco felt his heart clench with both love and remorse. This was just further proof that his last minute decision to go out with Hannah and Pansy had not been a wise one. He wouldn’t be doing things like that again. If he wanted to make plans, he would make them in advance, so Teddy wasn’t waiting at home, expecting him.

“It’s all right, Ted,” Draco replied, stroking his head. “I’ll read to you tonight, I promise.”

“Good.” Teddy left the confines of Draco’s arms and instead settled in the bed between Harry and Draco, slipping under the covers.

“Planning on going back to sleep, Ted?” Harry asked him, chuckling. “I thought it was time to get up.”

“In a minute,” Teddy replied, burrowing into the mattress with a wiggle. “Your bed is so big and soft!”

That had both men laughing, and they settled in on either side of Teddy. Draco watched as Harry reached out and played with Teddy’s hair, which was currently platinum blond.

“You look like a mini Draco right now, you know.”

Teddy giggled but didn’t answer.

“Teddy…” Harry went on as the boy closed his eyes. “Draco and I have some things we need to talk to you about.”

Teddy opened his eyes again and looked from Harry to Draco.

“It’s nothing bad,” Harry assured him. “We’ve just made some decisions and we want you to know about them. Are you ready to listen?” Teddy nodded, and Harry went back to stroking his hair. “First of all, Draco and I have decided to get a house elf. You remember what a house elf is, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Teddy said. “Aunt Cissy has house elves. They make food and do the chores.”

“That’s right,” Harry said. “And in fact, we’re likely going to be getting a house elf from Aunt Cissy, so it may be one you’ve met before.”

“Ok,” said Teddy, as if he didn’t care all that much.

“The elf is going to help me and Draco out around the house. She’ll cook us dinner sometimes and she’ll clean and do the wash. But,” he poked Teddy in the stomach so Teddy would look at him. The boy did, giggling again. “This is important, Teddy. We treat the elf with respect. We say ‘thank you’ when she does things for us and we are kind to her. We don’t boss her around. If we need something from her, we ask nicely. She’ll be just like any friend or family member, like another member of the household. And we treat everyone with kindness and respect, don’t we?”

“Yes,” Teddy said, sounding almost indignant. “Of course.”

Draco saw Harry smile widely at him. “You’re very kind and respectful, Teddy. That’s one of the things I love most about you. I know that you’ll do a good job.”

“I will,” Teddy said, as if it was inevitable.

Draco simply lay there, watching the conversation with his heart swelling again.

“I also need you to understand that just because we have an elf, it doesn’t mean that we make her do _everything_ for us. Draco and I still have chores that we do ourselves, and you will still have chores that you have to do.”

“Like set the table and make my bed?”

“Exactly. And clean your room and pick up after yourself when you play in other parts of the house.” He gave Teddy a knowing look, and Teddy squirmed. “That’s the first thing we’re going to be doing after breakfast, you know, is picking up all the toys and puzzles that you and Liam left yesterday. I expect you to help me and Draco with that.”

“Yes, Harry,” Teddy said softly.

“I’m not angry with you,” Harry said. “But I don’t want the house to get like that again. The next time you have a friend over, I want you to be responsible for cleaning up things as you go. Sometimes things get messy, and that’s all right. But when they get messy, I expect you to clean it up, not leave it for someone else to clean up. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” Teddy nodded. “I understand.”

“Good.”

“I wouldn’t have made that mess without Liam,” Teddy said after a moment, then looked at Harry as if he expected Harry to get annoyed.

But Harry’s face didn’t change at all, only continued to wear that same kind, paternal expression. “No, probably not. But they _are_ your toys, and you were playing with them too.”

Teddy sighed. “Yes.”

The three of them lay in silence for a minute. Teddy took one of Draco’s large hands in both of his small ones and started playing with it, grabbing and bending the fingers, feeling the knuckles, running his dull fingernails lightly along the palm. Draco watched him do it, wondering what was going on behind that thoughtful little expression.

“I don’t know if I want to invite Liam over again,” he said finally. He looked at Harry.

“All right,” Harry said simply, not giving him a clue either way how he felt about that.

“Is that bad?” Teddy asked him.

“Why would you think that’s bad?” Harry replied.

“Because I promised I would help him and be his friend,” Teddy said. “But he’s loud and he makes me tired and he isn’t nice to my toys.”

Harry appeared to be thinking that over. “Well, Teddy…” He began. “It’s good of you to want to help him and be his friend. And you can still do that at school, can’t you?”

“Yes,” said Teddy, after thinking that over.

“Having someone in your home is different. It takes more energy, and it takes more trust. If you don’t feel like you trust Liam enough right now, you can choose not to invite him over. Maybe you could go over to his house some time instead.”

Teddy pursed his little lips, all the while drawing shapes on the palm of Draco’s hand with his finger. “Yeah, maybe I could.” He thought some more. “But what if he asks to come over again? I don’t want to hurt his feelings.”

Harry smiled. “No, of course not. But friendship has to go both ways, Teddy. Just like you want to take care of and respect him, he should want to do the same for you. If you feel like he doesn’t treat you or your things with respect, you should tell him that. Ask him to be nicer to your toys. Ask him to respect that you need quiet time. You can tell him that if he isn’t willing to do those things for you, then you don’t feel good about having him come to your house. It’s ok to stand up for what you need.”

As he listened Draco was struck suddenly by how similar Harry and Teddy were, at least when it came to the way they related to other people. Their natural inclination was to put others first and to think of their feelings as secondary. For a long time now Draco had been wondering if Harry was the way he was because of his Muggle relatives, because they had raised him to believe he wasn’t as important, that he didn’t deserve to have the same things others did. Maybe he’d had those ideas beaten into him so much that they became a part of who he was. That had always been Draco’s theory, anyway, though it was one he never intended to share with Harry.

Now, though, looking at Teddy, he wondered if he had it wrong. Maybe, like Teddy, it was just a part of Harry’s nature to be good to others. Maybe he had just been born that way.

 _With any luck, our other children will take after him in that way as well,_ Draco thought to himself. He knew there was a back and a front to it, of course. It couldn’t possibly be enjoyable to bear the burden of other people’s happiness all the time. But Harry understood enough about it now to be teaching Teddy _not_ to carry everyone else’s feelings as his own responsibility all the time, and to advocate for himself. And that would make all the difference.

“Ok,” Teddy said finally. He had been thinking over Harry’s words for a while, still playing with Draco’s hand absently. But now he seemed to accept them, ready to move on. He looked from one of his parents to the other. “Can we have breakfast now?”

Harry laughed. “Yes, we can. What would you like?”

“Pancakes, please!”

“Of course,” said Harry. “Should have guessed. All right, I’ll make pancakes. And then we straighten up the house, all right?” Teddy nodded. “Good. Why don’t you head on downstairs? I need a minute alone with Draco.”

Teddy looked at the two of them again. “All right,” he said finally, crawling out from under the covers. “But hurry up. I’m hungry!”

“Excuse me?” Harry asked him, arching a brow.

“I mean… I’m very hungry, Harry. Will you please make breakfast soon?”

“That’s more like it,” Harry said while Draco snickered. “We’ll be down in a minute.”

Teddy vanished down the hall, leaving the bedroom door fully ajar. They could hear the sounds of his feet on the stairs.

“Do you think that was all right?” Harry asked softly, turning to Draco. “What I said?”

Draco snorted in disbelief. “Seriously?” Harry stared at him. “It was perfect, Harry.”

“I’m still getting the hang of this. I don’t always know the right things to say.”

Draco reached for him. “You were perfect, really. Nobody could have done it better.”

“I decided against asking him about… you know, what happened when we visited Andromeda. It just seems like the sort of thing that I should wait for him to bring up. He might not be ready to talk about it.”

Draco nodded. “I can see the logic of that.”

“I think he _will_ bring it up, eventually,” said Harry. “He doesn’t shy away from that sort of thing normally. I think he will want to talk about it. Perhaps just not right now.”

“I think that’s wise.” Draco ran a hand through Harry’s soft, unruly hair. “Have I mentioned how sexy I think it is, what a good dad you are?”

That made Harry laugh. “Sexy, hm?” He leaned in for a kiss. “Maybe tonight you can show me _exactly_ how sexy you think it is.”

Draco nipped at his jaw. “I know just what to do.”

With one final kiss and a low chuckle from Harry they made themselves get out of bed and finish dressing themselves. A part of Draco (a particularly _hard_ part), wanted to jump back into bed and have his way with Harry now. But his thoughts turned to the boy downstairs, waiting for them, and he knew in truth he wouldn’t change the way things were now. They had a whole day ahead of them, to eat, clean, play at the park, talk, relax, and be together. And he wouldn’t want it any other way.


	18. Confetti

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the wonderful response last chapter! It thrills me that you are all so invested in Harry and Draco and how they are navigating these changes in their lives. I can't wait to show you what happens with them next!
> 
> But we have a little while to wait on that, so for the time being, I hope you enjoy this update on Vesper's life. 
> 
> Wishing you love, health, and happiness as usual <333

(Vesper)

Vesper was restless. She always was at these sort of events, just anxious to get it over with. Sitting still had never been her strong suit, nor had listening to speeches that rambled on for a long time.

Gawain Robards, Head Auror, was talking a lot about duty, honor, sacrifice, and hard work. It’s not that Vesper was _against_ those things. She had become an Auror, after all, and that required at least some sense of duty and honor and all that. It’s just that she knew it all already. Robards really didn’t have to keep going on about it, not when Vesper and her fellow graduates were practically bouncing in their seats, anxious to get their certificates and be able to officially call themselves Aurors.

Although, there might be some among them that could do with a talking to about honor and hard work. Vesper glanced at Dempsey out of the corner of her eye and had to suppress a scowl. The bastard was graduating, just like her, though she couldn’t figure out how that had happened. Apparently his scores were actually decent, and after the dueling incident and the talking to from Ron, Dempsey had completely ignored her, meaning he couldn’t be booted for inappropriate behavior either.

 _What a crock of shit_ , she thought, crossing her arms. She bit back a sigh and kept looking around, hoping to get her mind off Dempsey and the injustice of it all.

There weren’t all that many people there besides the graduates. There were a few Aurors, attending out of curiosity, perhaps, about the newest members of their ranks. Ron was there, too, of course, in a chair on stage, ready to present the certificates once Robards had finally finished speaking. Vesper smirked as she saw the slightly glazed look in Ron’s eyes, and knew he was zoning out too.

Not many friends and family were in attendance. Vesper had told Harry, Draco, and the others who had asked about it not to bother to attend. She didn’t much care, and they all had busy lives. Aurelian was there, though. Her uncle had insisted on coming, and Vesper had allowed it without much fuss. She didn’t see Aurelian all that much anymore, and this seemed as good an excuse as any to spend some time with him. He’d offered to take her to dinner afterward, somewhere nice, so they could catch up.

Robards finally stepped away from the podium and there was a smattering of polite applause before Ron stepped up to take his place.

“And now to present the certificates,” he said, cutting right to the chase, just how Vesper liked it. “When your name is called, approach the stage.”

They did, one by one, enjoying the applause and the wolf-whistling from their fellow graduates. Some of them glanced back at their friends after they accepted their certificate, making gestures of mild triumph. Vesper felt her lips curl into a sneer when she saw Dempsey put his fist in the air.

 _Fucking idiot_.

When her name was called Vesper did as those before her had done, approaching Ron and shaking his hand. He clapped her on the shoulder and said in a low voice, “Well done, Ves.” She grinned at him.

On her way back to her chair she avoided Dempsey’s gaze and instead spotted Aurelian, who was clapping loudly, though he had remained in his seat, at least, she was relieved to see. Declan was eyeing her with a broad smile as she came to sit down next to him, and she gave his knee a little squeeze surreptitiously.

The ceremony wrapped up quickly, and the graduates were then encouraged to mill about, socialize, and enjoy some light refreshments. Vesper grabbed a glass of butterbeer and made her way over to her uncle.

“I told you it wouldn’t be a big thing,” she said to him, by way of greeting.

He embraced her and held her tightly for a moment before answering. “It may not have been an involved ceremony, but it certainly is big in terms of what it means for you.”

She pulled back to look at him. “You’re right,” she said after a moment of studying his face. “Things are really going to be different now, for me.”

“Yes,” he said simply, and from his expression Vesper had no way to know how he felt about that.

“Come on,” she said, hooking her arm through his. “I want you to meet some of my friends.”

She introduced him to Fischer, Green, and Abernathy, all of whom had heard of Aurelian Kemp and his dueling prowess, and were suitably pleased to meet him. She introduced him to Declan as well, of course, who shook his hand in a very boyfriend-meeting-a-parent sort of way that Vesper wondered if Aurelian picked up on. They chatted away for most of the reception, Declan asking Aurelian about his dueling and his time living in the States, and also telling him about his work as a cursebreaker when Aurelian had asked.

It was all very... well, _boyfriend-y_ behavior, she thought. Which should have pleased her. It _did_ please her, in a way, but it also felt presumptuous, a bit too fast for her liking.

You _introduced him to your uncle,_ she chastised herself. _Who Declan knows is a significant person in your life. What is he supposed to think?_

That actually made her feel better, because she realized that Declan was simply doing what was expected of him. He was always good about that kind of thing. It wasn’t like he was inviting himself to Aurelian’s for Christmas or talking about the next step in their relationship - or really talking about their relationship at all. He was simply being gracious, enjoying Aurelian’s company, and putting her uncle at ease in a place where he didn’t know many people.

He was being perfect, as usual.

So she should be glad, and stop overanalyzing everything, she decided.

Ron came by eventually, joining the conversation and congratulating Vesper and Declan again on their achievement. Declan excused himself after a few minutes, bidding farewell to Vesper with nothing more than a simple squeeze of her arm. Subtle, tempered, perfect.

She smiled at him, hoping her gratitude for him and for the graceful way he always handled himself shone through in her eyes. Based on the small smile he gave her in return, she thought it had.

It was finally time for dinner, and Vesper was glad. She was hungry (although… wasn’t she always?), but mostly she simply wanted to leave the fairly stuffy reception and spend some real time with her uncle.

Aurelian took her to the Silver Swan, one of those high end restaurants that kept popping up all over wizarding London. Each new one would be trendy for a few months, doing a great business, and then fall off when the next one opened, touting some new magical gimmick that had everyone all aflutter and clambering for tables. Vesper appreciated fine food, but it was never the kind of place she tended to gravitate to. Aurelian, however, relished the novelty of it, and it was clear he felt he was doing something special by bringing her there, so she went along happily.

While certainly serving red meat and vegetarian dishes as well, the Silver Swan was best known for their magic with poultry. And it was quite literally magic, creating dishes that would be impossible for any Muggle to achieve. Vesper looked at the long list of chicken, quail, duck, goose, pheasant, grouse, partridge, and guinea fowl with a sense of dizzying overwhelm, and decided to just order something randomly and hope for the best. Aurelian ordered quail and a bottle of wine in the way he ordered everything, with authority and a slightly haughty edge, which Vesper always found amusing.

As they waited for their meal Aurelian asked after Vesper’s friends (he would never admit it, but Vesper was confident that he was continuously curious, perhaps even invested, in how Harry especially was doing, and just never wanted to admit it that he actually _liked_ the man). She told him all that she knew, how Ron and Hermione’s wedding was coming along, how much Pansy and Theo’s daughter had grown already, and the fact that Harry and Draco had taken in Teddy as their own now that Andromeda was sick.

Their wine came, and eventually their food, and conversation turned to how delicious everything was. Vesper was actually very delighted, and quite impressed, with her choice: Brussels sprouts, dauphinoise potatoes, and duck breast that transfigured in the mouth when you took a bite, bursting forth with a savory sweet sauce that flooded the mouth with flavor.

Vesper was contemplating what sort of charm work was required to achieve the effect when her uncle spoke.

“I am proud of you, you know.”

Vesper smiled at that. She _did_ know, of course. She could read it in her uncle’s face. But it was nice to hear it nonetheless, especially given Aurelian how had initially reacted with confusion when she told him of her choice to join the Aurors. She couldn’t blame him. Everyone who knew her was confused by the decision. Why would a duelist at the very peak of her career suddenly leave?

She’d never had the heart to tell any of them the truth. But that was all right. It wasn’t any of their business anyway.

Although perhaps it _was_ Aurelian’s, a little, only because he loved her like his own child, and she owed him so much for her success and for bringing her to the UK in the first place. Even so, he didn’t know either, not really.

“I didn’t know what to make of it at first, I’ll be honest,” he went on.

Vesper chuckled. “I know.”

“But the more I’ve thought about it, the more sense it makes. You have to have a challenge, a next mountain to climb, to conquer. I think competition was getting too easy for you.”

Vesper snorted. “I wouldn’t say that. There were a lot of duelists that gave me a challenge… Remember Peterson in the International Open last year?”

“He nearly won on a technicality, is all,” Aurelian said, brushing that off. “You had him, in the end.”

Vesper nodded. That was true. “It’s not just that though. I have this skill, this gift, and I wanted to really _use_ it, you know?”

Aurelian gave a small grunt at that. He knew what she meant. She meant use it to do good. Aurelian was not _opposed_ to doing good, of course, but he was not an idealist by any stretch. Vesper knew he would scoff at her if she started talking to him about having some higher purpose to serve humanity, calling them “romantic notions.” That didn’t bother her, not really. Aurelian was Aurelian. He had seen what he had seen and lived what he had lived. He had to no reason to believe in a higher power or purpose, not when so much of what made his life good had been taken from him. He was not interested in romance in any of its many forms, and Vesper could not find it in her to blame him for it.

“So, what happens now, then? You begin work right away, or is there more training?”

“There is more training,” Vesper said. “We can’t expect to learn everything there is to learn in just nine weeks. But it’s all on the job, and specific to what department you’re assigned. I’m only a Junior Auror, which means I’ve got at least a couple of years where I’m essentially shadowing my partner and learning from him or her. I get to work cases, of course, but they likely won’t be very hard ones, and all of my work is directly supervised. The longer I stick with it the less that’s true, as I understand it, until eventually I get promoted to Senior Auror and I am more in charge of my case load and the lines of inquiry, that sort of thing.”

“And it takes two years, you say, to become a Senior Auror?”

“It varies from Auror to Auror,” Vesper replied. “It will depend on how well I do. If I prove myself useful, talented, and disciplined, then yeah, it could happen in as little as two years.” That’s what Ron had told her anyway. He would know. It only took him two to make Senior Auror. But then, Ron Weasley was exceptional.

“So, only two years for you, then,” Aurelian said with a wink.

Vesper blushed, taking pleasure in her uncle’s confidence in her. “We’ll see,” she said. “Anyway, enough about me for now. How’s the school going?” Last year Aurelian had decided to expand his coaching business by employing some junior instructors, mainly former students of his who were now professional duelists, who would work with his beginning students while Aurelian still instructed his more advanced students. He’d had magical renovators and engineers come to his estate and transform his training room into an entire training center, with two dueling arenas and a conditioning room, allowing multiple students to be seen at once. Vesper thought it an ambitious adjustment, but could also see that it was a natural direction for things to take, as dueling instruction by Aurelian Kemp was in too high demand for it to be met with him merely taking students one on one anymore.

“It’s going remarkably well,” Aurelian said. “Managing the junior instructors was an adjustment, but after working with your Mr. Potter, I was more prepared for it. I know better how to train teachers than I did when he was with us.”

Vesper smiled nostalgically. That had been a fun time, back when she and Harry were both training with Aurelian. A simpler time, before striking out on her own, before Blaise, before… everything. A part of her missed it.

“You know, if you do ever tire of the Auror life, you can always come back,” her uncle continued. “There is always a place for you at my school.”

“That’s sweet, Uncle Aurie,” Vesper said. “It would be wonderful to work with you again. But I…” She considered her next words carefully. “I think it would feel like it was a step backwards for me, too much like where I’ve already been, you know?”

He smiled at her honesty. “I understand. It is natural to feel that way. I hope you know, of course, that I wouldn’t simply be making you a junior instructor. I could never think of you that way, not with all your experience. You would be my partner. You would share in the business.”

Vesper blinked at him. She hadn’t expected _that_. “That’s very generous,” she managed.

“Yes,” Aurelian said, his onyx eyes twinkling. “But you deserve it. You earned my complete faith in you a long time ago.”

Vesper fought another smile. “Stop, Aurie. You’re going to make me cry.” She half meant it, which he probably knew.

“New topic, then,” he said. “That man you introduced me to today. Ross. I take it you two are seeing each other?”

So Aurelian had picked up on that, apparently. Vesper took another bite of duck before answering, washing it down with a gulp of wine. “It’s not serious,” she said. “Early stages, you know.”

Aurelian nodded. “Yes, I got that impression. Although he seems quite smitten with you.”

Vesper blushed again. “How could you possibly know that? You two barely talked about me at all.”

“Ah, but you see, it’s all about subtext, and body language. It wasn’t what he said; it was the way he behaved.”

Vesper shrugged, not sure what to say. Aurelian did know a lot about body language. “We’ll see how it goes. I’m taking it day by day.”

“You must at least _like_ him, I suppose.”

“Are you really going to talk to me about my love life?” she asked him, incredulous. “You _never_ used to want to hear about my love life.”

“I don’t particularly fancy the idea of you having a love life at all, I’ll admit,” he said, amused. “You know I don’t think any man will ever deserve you. But, as you constantly remind me, you are essentially my surrogate daughter, and so it is my duty, as your surrogate father, to ask you about these things, make sure that you’re happy.”

Vesper caught herself smiling again. Aurelian was being very sweet today. She knew he likely only meant that, with Vesper’s own father still back in the US, Aurelian was filling in for him for the time being. But the truth of it, though Vesper had never said this aloud, was that Aurelian was in many ways more like a father to her than her own father was. It wasn’t that Sebastian Kemp was a bad father, per se, but more that he never knew quite what to do with his only daughter. It was as if he had no frame of reference for her. Aurelian had always understood her: her nature, her ambitions, her interests, much more than her father ever had.

“I am happy,” Vesper said. “But there are a lot of reasons. It’s not just Declan.”

Aurelian nodded again. “And I suppose that… Zabini, he’s out of the picture?”

Vesper tilted her head and looked at her uncle. She had never been able to figure out how Aurelian felt about Blaise. They were both Slytherins, and they had quite a bit in common. It was obvious that Blaise respected the man, and treated him as such. And Aurelian was always polite. But he never asked after Blaise, never mentioned him, and that always made Vesper wonder. As she sat there, she realized how silly that was, all that wondering. She should have just asked him.

“Did you like Blaise or didn’t you?” she said bluntly now. “I could never tell.”

Aurelian laughed. “I thought him a fine man. Your choice of him surprised me, and I spent a lot of time wondering what tied you to him, what you had in common. But he was a fine man. A fine choice.”

“But you never told me that.”

“Well, I didn’t really think it was any of my business. It became clear early on that you two were serious. I thought…” He paused, his eyes suddenly cautious.

“Go on,” Vesper encouraged him. “What did you think?”

“I thought you were going to marry him. It seemed… quite settled for a while there, didn’t it? I figured, if you were sure, then what say did I have in it either way?”

Vesper considered that, realizing he was right. His opinion mattered to her, of course, but on the subject of Blaise, on any man really, his thoughts would not have swayed her. That sort of decision was hers alone to make.

“He wrote to me recently,” she found herself saying. “Saying he wanted to get back together.”

She hadn’t told anyone else about the letter, any of her friends. But they were invested in a different way than her uncle was. They wanted happiness for her and Blaise both. They would likely have opinions about what she should do or how she had handled things so far. She didn’t want anyone to have to take sides. Aurelian, though, wouldn’t care what decision she made, except that it was the one that felt right to her.

“And how did you respond?”

“I didn’t,” she said. “The letter is still sitting in a drawer in my desk. I never wrote him back.”

“Well, that’s an answer in and of itself, in a way, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” she replied. “Because he said…” She licked her lips, staring into her wine as she twisted the stem of the glass between her fingers. “He said he would wait… for me. To make a decision, I mean. It makes me feel like I _should_ write back, to tell him I’m seeing someone and that… that he should move on.”

“So, why haven’t you?” Aurelian asked.

She met her uncle’s eyes finally. “I can’t bring myself to.”

“Why not?”

“Because it feels so permanent. It feels like cutting off the possibility…” She sighed, not really able to believe what she was saying. “It’s horrible, but a part of me doesn’t want him to move on. But I also don’t think I can… be with him. Right now.” She glanced at her uncle again, to find that he was looking at her with an expression she’d always liked, because it was considering, thoughtful, but free of judgment. When it came to most things (that weren’t dueling, of course), Aurelian was always very good about not being judgmental.

“You want to remain attached to him,” Aurelian ventured, “even if it’s not in the same way as before.”

Vesper sighed, and realized it was in relief. “Yeah. That sounds about right.”

“I imagine that is something that might be achievable,” he said. “But only if Zabini agrees. He cannot know what you want unless you tell him.”

Vesper moved the sprouts around on her plate and considered that. “You’re right,” she said. “But I think I have to figure out exactly what I want from him first, I think, before I talk to him. I want to go into the conversation with… with clarity.”

Aurelian nodded slowly. “That seems fair.”

Vesper nodded too, looking off into the distance for a moment, where she could see a man at another table sampling his wine impassively.

It did seem fair, actually. Maybe there was a solution, after all.

***

Vesper came into work the following Monday feeling jittery and excited. She was officially an Auror! Well, a Junior Auror, but still. It was something.

She would be receiving her department assignment today. All the new graduates would. Apparently there were spots available in nearly all the departments, so it was a toss-up as to where she would be placed at this point. She could only hope to be placed somewhere where the work was interesting and with a partner she got along with.

She bounced on the balls of her feet compulsively as the Ministry elevator made its way to her floor, making the other occupants give her odd or amused looks. She merely smiled at them, unperturbed.

Once in the corridor it was clear where the assignments had been posted, for there was already a crowd of Junior Aurors, her former classmates, gathered around looking at it. Declan spotted her and made his way over. He squeezed her hand in greeting but nothing more, since they’d agreed they wouldn’t show too much affection at work. They didn’t want to be a source of gossip to others in the office.

“Have you looked yet?” she asked him.

“Yes, I have,” said Declan.

“And? Where did they put you?”

“Unlicensed and Experimental Magic,” he replied. “I think because of my cursebreaker background. I did have to deal with some experimental stuff in my old job.”

“All right,” Vesper said, nodding. “Are you happy?”

He grinned and ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I’d say I am. I think it’s a good place to start, anyway.”

“Good,” she said, smiling up at him.

“I know where you are, too, by the way.”

“You checked?”

“Of course. I…” He bit his lip. “I wanted to see if we were together.” He looked a little sheepish.

She eyed him. “I’m guessing from the look on your face that we’re not.”

“You guessed right. You landed in Contraband and Dark Artifacts.”

Vesper absorbed that. “Interesting.” It meant she would mostly be dealing with smuggling cases. It involved a lot of investigation, but also a lot of time out of the office, too, to go on raids and such. Which might mean she would actually get to utilize her dueling skills. All in all, not a bad placement. “I think I could like that.”

“I think you could too. And you know, our departments do sometimes overlap, so we may end up on the occasional case together.”

She grinned. “I’d like that as well.” She glanced over at the board where the assignments were posted. The crowd was thinning now. “Come on,” she said. “I want to take a look at what everyone else got.”

She sidled up to the board with Declan not far behind and looked at the list. It included nineteen names, since there was only one trainee from their class who didn’t graduate (a record, apparently, and even he had to leave for personal reasons, not because he wasn’t doing well in the class). It meant most departments were taking on more new graduates than usual, and Vesper was sure that she and Declan both would be sharing placements with at least one other graduate. She ran a finger down the parchment, checking the departments and who Declan got placed with.

“You’re with Green,” she told him, then saw another name with “Unlicensed and Experimental Magic” next to it and paused there. “And Morgan.”

Declan made a face. “Green will be great. But Morgan’s a right prick.”

Vesper laughed. “Cheer up, at least it’s not…” But she had to trail off, because her finger had stopped at another name. _Chadwick Dempsey… Contraband and Dark Artifacts._

 _Her_ department.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“What?”

Vesper turned to look at him. “See for yourself.”

Declan did, looking at where her finger was resting on the parchment. He went still, taking it in, then he took a deep breath and glanced at her. “Bad luck.”

 _Bad luck?!_ She wanted to shout at him. This was so beyond bad luck. This was a travesty. She was actually going to have to work closely with Dempsey for the foreseeable future, and there was nothing she could do about it.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “How could… of all the people… Why would Ron…?”

 _Ron_. Why hadn’t he stepped in about this? Why hadn’t he _done_ something?

_Unless he’s trying to get you to learn some kind of lesson in all of this._

But no, she didn’t think that was it. Ron wasn’t that cruel.

But still, how could he let this happen?

“Like hell,” she heard herself say aloud. She wasn’t going to stand for this.

“What?” Declan asked her. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to talk to Ron,” she said.

Declan raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment.

“What else can I do, Declan?” she asked him. “I can’t work with him. I just… I just can’t.”

Declan watched her a moment, then nodded slowly. She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze.

“You go on,” she told him. “I’ll find you for lunch, ok?”

“Yeah, all right,” he said, squeezing back. “Just…” He trailed off.

“Just what?”

“Nothing,” he said. “Just be… careful.”

She wasn’t sure what to say to that. Why would she need to be careful? But she didn’t have time to ask. She had to take care of this now.

She found Ron in his office, but there was another Auror there, one she hadn’t met yet, though by the look of him he was Senior just like Ron. Though her anger and frustration was still coursing through her, Vesper recognized the need for discretion. Ron would not thank her if she made a scene in front of one of their colleagues. People were aware that they were friends outside of work, but she understood that Ron never wanted to give the impression of favoring her. It would make neither of them look good.

“Excuse me, Auror Weasley,” she said, standing in the doorway with the two Aurors looking at her. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. I’d like a quick word with you, when you have the chance.” She thought that sounded reasonable enough.

“No problem, Auror Kemp,” Ron replied easily. “Just give me a few minutes.”

Vesper nodded and turned, placing herself against the wall just outside Ron’s office, so as not to stand awkwardly in the doorway while he finished up whatever conversation he was having. A few other Aurors passed by as she waited, a couple of them waving to her when they recognized her. She smiled back, though it felt brittle on her lips. She would not be happy until she had this issue settled.

Finally the other Auror left and Ron called her inside, closing the door behind her. They both stood there a moment, looking at each other, until Ron raised an eyebrow.

“Go on,” he said. “Let it out. There’s a strong Silencing Charm on this office. No one will hear you.”

Vesper stared at him. “What?”

“You’re cross about being put in the same department as Dempsey, I’m well aware. I knew you would be. Rant and rave all you like. Get it out of your system.”

“Cross?” Vesper asked him incredulously, doing a (maybe slightly exaggerated) impression of his English accent as she did. “I’m not fucking ‘cross.’ I’m _livid_.”

“Fair enough,” Ron said.

She gaped at him. “How can you just stand there and-“ She shook her head, disbelieving. “How could you let this happen? How could you do this to me?”

Ron raised his eyebrow again and gave her a slow, no-nonsense look. “This is not my doing, Vesper, and you know it. I don’t decide what departments the graduates go into. Robards does, based on your scores in training, your final exam, your post-training interview, and specific department requests. The only thing I can do is provide thoughts and feedback when I’m asked for them.”

Vesper paced back and forth, incensed. She wanted to be able to blame _someone_ , but she couldn’t exactly go and chew out the Head Auror, could she? “I just can’t believe my luck,” she said finally. “This is just the _worst_.”

“Yes, it’s unfortunate,” Ron said, which Vesper thought might be the understatement of the year. “The problem is, really, that you and Dempsey have quite similar profiles.”

That made Vesper stop and stare at him. “What do you mean, similar profiles?”

“To someone who didn’t know either of you, who was only reading about you on paper, you would seem similar. You are both talented duelists,” Ron said, starting to tick the reasons off on his fingers and effectively cutting off Vesper’s protests. “You have strong investigative skills, you both expressed an interest in a department with a lot of field work… like it or not, you and Dempsey have a lot in common.”

Vesper huffed. “Great. This is just fucking great.”

“There is some good news, you know. For one thing, I think you were very well placed. You’ll like the Contraband office. It’s very active and you’ll be able to get out of the office some, especially after the first few months. I told Robards to put you with McInerney specifically. He has loads of experience with dark artifacts. Been on the job going on fifteen years now, I think. You’ll learn a lot from him, and he’ll show you respect and let you get in on the good stuff, the juicy work, early.”

“So Robards _did_ consult you about me,” Vesper accused. “Why didn’t you tell him that I shouldn’t be put in the same department as Dempsey?”

“Trust me, Vesper, you really wouldn’t have wanted me to tell him that. It doesn’t look good on either side if I tell him two new recruits can’t work well together. If I had, Robards would have gotten the impression that you’re difficult to work with all around, and you don’t want to appear that way, not early on. Better to just give it some time, stick it out. If you like you can transfer out later. Or perhaps Dempsey will transfer out instead. I did recommend for him to work with Moreau, you know, with very clear intentions in mind. She’s one of the toughest Aurors we have and she doesn’t take shit from anyone. She’ll put Dempsey in his place if he steps out of line.”

“I hope he does step out of line, then,” Vesper said, slightly mollified. She’d give anything to see Dempsey get ripped a new one.

Ron was quiet for a moment. “You’ve got to let this go, Vesper,” he said. “This rivalry with Dempsey. He hasn’t given you any trouble in the last few weeks, from what I’ve seen and what you’ve told me, and obsessing over him and whether or not he gets what’s coming to him is only going to distract you from the job. And trust me, you will need your wits about you.”

Vesper sighed. She knew he was right, but… “I just can’t stand the idea of him walking around here, getting to be an Auror, not having really learned his lesson, not understanding that he can’t treat people – women especially – the way he does. It just… it makes my blood boil. I don’t know what it is.”

“I understand,” said Ron. “We used to feel the same about Draco - Harry, Hermione, and I. It got so bad for Harry sixth year, wanting to catch him in the act of doing something wrong, that he stalked him practically the whole year. He got himself into some serious trouble, too. I don’t want the same thing to happen to you. So just… keep focused on the job, on learning as much as you can. You and Dempsey will mostly work different cases anyway. It’s not the end of the world. It really isn’t.”

Vesper sighed heavily. “I’m really stuck, aren’t I?”

“Yes,” he replied with a wry but sympathetic smile. “You really are.”

“Well, that’s a load of bollocks,” Vesper said, feeling that it was the phrase that fit best, even though it wasn’t one she used very often.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed, but resignedly. There was silence for a moment. “Look, why don’t I walk you down to the department? I’ll introduce you to McInerney and make sure you get settled.”

“Yeah,” Vesper said, liking the idea of having Ron’s company in order to deal with this. He had a reassuring way about him. “Ok.”

***

The Contraband and Dark Artifacts department turned out to be a cluster of offices at the end of a long, bleak hallway. They were a floor below the main floor that housed most of the Auror Corps, but Ron explained why.

“The evidence storeroom is down here,” he said. “And it’s your department that does the most to fill it up. You’ll likely be spending a lot of time in there, assessing and cataloguing and whatnot.”

Vesper nodded, but internally she was grimacing. It was not the part of the job she was looking forward to. She’d rather be out in the field than in a cramped, dingy room all day.

Especially if she was going to be stuck in that cramped, dingy room with Chadwick Dempsey.

 _Positive thinking_ , she chastised herself. Ron made it clear that there was nothing she could do about it now. She may as well make the best of it.

The offices themselves weren’t so bad, she noted when they entered. Perhaps a bit cramped, but it looked like she was going to have her own desk, right next to her partner’s, and there were those fake windows that let in magically recreated sunlight along two walls of the space, giving the illusion that there was more room than there actually was.

Dempsey was already there, Vesper saw with a sour twist to her mouth. He watched her with an impassive gaze as she and Ron entered the room. He was sitting across from a petite but muscular witch with a dark pixie cut and multiple piercings in her ears, who Vesper had to assume was his new partner.

“Dempsey, pay attention,” she said to him, her voice carrying just a hint of a French accent.

Dempsey started and turned his head away, to show he was listening. Vesper smirked to herself as she followed Ron around to the other side of the cluster of cubicles.

“All right there, Mac?” she heard Ron say as she rounded the corner. He was shaking hands with a stocky and gruff-looking wizard with hairy forearms and a prominent nose.

“Weasley,” he replied, his voice deep enough to match the rest of him. “This is a pleasant surprise. I haven’t seen you down here in ages.”

“I thought I’d take the time to introduce you to your new partner. Mac, this is Vesper Kemp. Vesper, this is Owen McInerney.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” Vesper said, taking his calloused hand and giving it a firm shake.

“Likewise.” He returned the steady grip but didn’t crush her hand, as some more muscular men always seemed prone to do.

He was certainly a bit rough around the edges, McInerney was. His dark, course hair was in need of a trim and his scarlet and black Auror robes looked wrinkled and strangely informal on him. But as she met his gaze she was struck by his sharp blue eyes, which seemed to take in everything about her in an instant. She understood immediately that he was not a man to be underestimated.

Ron and McInerney made small talk for a few minutes, reminiscing about some old case they had worked on together. Vesper stood there and listened, pretending she didn’t feel awkward. Ron met her eyes once and tossed her a wink, and she smiled at him.

“Well, I’ve got to get back upstairs,” Ron said finally.

“They have you on desk duty, now that training is over?” Mcinerney asked.

Ron rolled his eyes. “Yes, unfortunately. But what can I do? I don’t have clearance from my Healers yet.”

“I don’t envy you that one, mate,” the other wizard replied, clapping him on the shoulder. “It was a brave thing you did. I never got a chance to tell you that.”

“Thanks,” said Ron, turning a bit pink. He glanced at Vesper. “I’d say take good care of my girl here,” he continued with a smirk, “but she takes plenty good care of herself.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” McInerney replied, smirking himself.

Ron took his leave, clasping Vesper’s shoulder briefly in goodbye. She gave him a brave smile and nodded. _I’ll be fine._

“Have a seat,” McInerney told her when she turned back to him. “This desk is yours, technically speaking, although we’re so close together we usually end up sharing. Especially since we’ll work all the same cases. They talk to you about the department?”

“Yeah,” Vesper said with an eager nod. “You guys handle smuggling cases, mostly.”

“Sure,” he replied. “But there are ways in which we each specialize, and that determines what kind of cases we take on.”

“Ron said you know a lot about dark artifacts?”

McInerney gave her a lopsided smile. “Nice to know you pay attention. Yes. It’s been my specialty - some in the department might say my ‘obsession’ - for over a decade now. But I wouldn’t call it an obsession. Just an appreciation.”

Vesper watched him a moment. “You appreciate dark artifacts, yet you try to put a stop to people creating, buying, and selling them?”

The wizard’s smile widened. “In this job, there’s a fine line you’re walking most of the time. It’s possible to admire the magic, the craftsmanship, but not want it to fall into the hands of the wrong people.”

“The ‘wrong people’ being dark wizards?”

McInerney frowned, but thoughtfully. “An oversimplification, but sure.”

“Ok…”

“How much do you know about dark artifacts?” His tone was purely curious, rather than condescending.

“Not as much as I should, I’m sure,” she replied.

He raised his eyebrows. “It’s your first day. Of course that’s true.” He waved his hand in a conciliatory gesture. “The question wasn’t meant to be a test, merely a way for me to know where I should begin. I read your file, you know. You were a duelist, which means you were likely strong in Defense when you were a student, and probably did well on your NEWT level. And Defense involves both mastering spells and understanding imbued magic. I thought maybe you’d already had some education in artifacts imbued with dark magic, and I wouldn’t want to spend an hour lecturing you on something you already know.”

Vesper nodded, taking that in. She appreciated that he had no interest in treating her like a complete neophyte, although part of her was tempted to tell him to assume she knew nothing and start at the beginning.

But she didn’t, perhaps out of a desire to prove she could be useful, or because there was something about the way McInerney had asked it, and explained his reasoning, that made her feel as though she ought to stretch herself.

“I remember…” she began, tilting her head. “We were taught detection spells, which we also touched on Auror training, so I’ve had some practice with those.”

McInerney nodded and gave her that lopsided smile again. “I’m glad to hear that. Instructors have skipped them in the past, assuming that you’ll learn on the job if you have to. It’s good to hear that Weasley knows better than that.”

Vesper nodded. “Yeah, he was thorough.”

“Not surprising.” He looked at her again. “What else?”

“Well… we learned the detection spells, but my NEWT professor also talked about ways to… intuitively detect dark magic, if that makes sense. There’s an energy around a dark artifact, kind of, and you can feel it if you’re paying attention.”

“Yes,” McInerney said. “Although it’s not just dark magic. Light and neutral magic leave traces as well. But dark magic _does_ give off an energy… even a smell, I think – although some of my colleagues think I’m mental for believing so – that makes it distinctive. The skills for picking up on such things vary from person to person. How were you at it?”

“I was decent, I guess. I honestly don’t really remember.”

McInerney nodded. “Well, let’s find out, shall we?” He leaned over to open one of the drawers of his desk.

“Right now?”

“No time like the present.” He started pulling out objects from the drawer one at a time and placing it on the desk between them: a small statuette of a raven carved out of some kind of black stone, a bowl that appeared to be made of pieces of some dried animal hide that had been sewn together, and a silver ring with what looked like a moonstone in a rough claw setting. Vesper looked at each one closely as he presented it, but didn’t try to touch them.

“These are all dark artifacts?” she asked when he’d sat upright and faced her again.

“You tell me,” he replied, his blue eyes glinting.

Vesper bit her lip and reminded herself that this wasn’t really a test in the strictest sense. Her job wasn’t riding on it. McInerney just wanted to know how much he needed to teach her. While she was sure that he would need to teach her quite a lot, she hoped she could at least make a decent showing.

“They’re all safe to touch,” he said when she reached out her hand and looked at him with an unspoken question.

She picked up the statuette first, as it looked like the object most likely to hold some kind of dark magic. It was an inch or so longer than her hand, and cool to the touch. She couldn’t feel anything at first, save for the pulse of blood in her fingers against the stone.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “That helps.”

She did, and she tried her best to cut off her hearing, too, or at least ignore it. As the stimuli of the cramped office well away, she put her focus back on the statuette: the weight of it, the soft edges of the symbol carved into its base, the resin-like texture of the stone. After a moment she realized that it wasn’t the pulse of her fingers that she felt. It was too strong for that. The _statuette_ had a pulse, no faster than her own heartbeat. She tried to get the flavor of it. Was it dark or light? She couldn’t really tell. It felt like neither. But it definitely had an energy. It had magic.

She opened her eyes and put the statuette back on the desk. She picked up the bowl next. It was light and dry, and quite unremarkable. Though she closed her eyes again and tried to feel, she got nothing from it.

The moonstone ring was last, and she knew the moment she touched it that it carried something powerful. A part of her wanted to drop it back on the desk immediately; the feeling it gave off wasn’t exactly pleasant. But she resisted, holding it in the center of her palm. There was something about it’s weight… not that it weighed more than it should, exactly, but rather that it’s mass somehow extended outside itself. She didn’t know how else to describe it. She didn’t need to close her eyes for this one, and she didn’t need long with it either. She put it back on the desk with the others.

“The ring is dark,” she said. “It has to be. The statuette… it has, something, but I think it might be neutral magic. And the bowl… I didn’t get anything.”

McInerney nodded. “The bowl was given to me as a gift by a shaman in Namibia. It was used to hold magical substances but has no magical properties itself. The ring carries a Curse of Endless Sleep, but it’s only activated if one puts it on while their outside, under moonlight, which is why it was safe for you to handle it here and now. But yes, it has dark magic. So you got two right. Not bad for your first time.”

“I was wrong about the statuette?” Vesper asked, disappointed.

“Half wrong. It has blood magic.”

“Oh.” Blood magic was definitely dark. So she’d gotten that wrong as well.

“But you picked up on an important distinction between the magic of the ring and the magic of the carving. Blood magic is classified as dark, but it isn’t illegal, or even that uncommon. Blood magic is used to tie family magic to a place, like an ancestral home, or to heirloom objects. It’s used as a surrogate for a witch or wizard when they can’t be present, giving off magic that has a mild influence on the surrounding space. It can be used to emotionally link two people to each other over long distances. It has many uses, many of them perfectly legal, though frowned upon in some circles.

“The ring on the other hand…” He picked up the object in question and examined it. “Well, it carries a curse. Plain and simple. It has no benefit to anyone. Its energy is purely malevolent. Which is not the same as being dark, although they sometimes go hand in hand.”

“So the magic in that ring is illegal.”

“Yes. It was recovered during a raid of an old wizarding estate about four years ago. I was allowed to keep it so long as I registered it and put protections on it so it can never leave this office. It’s tied here by strong magic that would take quite a lot of time and energy to undo.”

“Why do you keep it?”

“To remind myself of the distinction I just mentioned. Not all dark magic is evil. It’s important that we remember that. It’s important that we pay attention to the things that can really do damage, really hurt someone. Tracing back its long history, this ring has killed at least twelve people, probably more. No one wakes up from a Curse of Endless Sleep, not even if the ring is removed from the hand of the victim. The family we raided, they had a history of attacking their enemies and controlling their supposed allies through dark objects. By taking their weapons away, we saved lives. Instead of casting a wide net and saying all dark magic is bad and we should treat it all the same, we successfully focused on what was truly harmful, and it made all the difference. I’m proud of that raid. So I kept the ring. It reminds me of the good work we can do.”

He placed the ring back on the desk, and the two of them stared at it for a minute.

“Well,” he said finally. “Consider that your first lesson.”

“Thank you. It was a good one.”

“I’m glad. There’s plenty more where that came from. There’s a lot to know in this department.”

“Good,” Vesper said, meaning it. She liked McInerney already. She’d always been drawn to fervent, committed people, probably because she considered herself among their number. “I’ll take another lesson whenever you’re ready.”


	19. Cloud

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for the wonderful feedback! I'll say I could definitely use some for this chapter as well. Hermione's storyline has a lot of plotting and details that need to line up. I've also been doing a lot of revisions and changed some things, which makes me nervous about continuity. If there are inconsistencies or things that don't make sense, please let me know so I can fix them!
> 
> And, of course, general thoughts are always welcome. Or just news on how you're doing. You all have been in my thoughts lately.
> 
> Happy Sunday! <33

(Hermione)

Hermione tilted her head to and fro, watching her reflection in the mirror carefully to catch any strange facets or holes in her disguise. She was not very practiced at glamour spells, having had no cause since the war to hide her identity, and she was nervous about implementing them now. But everything seemed to be staying in place nicely. She had straightened and darkened her hair, sharpened her nose, and lightened her eyes to a greenish hazel. Someone who knew her very well might be able to spot her among the changes, but most people wouldn’t give her a second glance. And that would be enough of a disguise for a perfect stranger, surely.

She had a name. It had taken quite a bit of doing, and more than a little luck. She's started in her parents' neighborhood, hoping to talk to some of the neighbors she knew personally (very carefully of course) about what they remembered of the accident and where it had originated. They remembered some details, it turned out, except of course the nature of the accident. Their memories had been modified to make them believe it had been a gas explosion in one of the houses.

They knew which one, though: "the sweet blue one with the little white gate and the lovely front garden," just around the corner and two houses down from Hermione's parents' house.

No wonder they'd suffered such damage, she realized then, being so close to the epicenter of the magical burst. But that realization didn't matter much at the moment.

She asked the neighbors what they knew of the man who lived in the sweet blue house, but they didn't have much information to give. He had a foreign-sounding name, they remembered, something German perhaps. He was very friendly but kept mostly to himself. He had visitors, but rarely anyone from the neighborhood. He was never a bother to anyone.

 _Except for the occasional burst of accidental magic that decimates the block_ , she wanted to add drily, but didn't. Statute of Secrecy, and all that. Not to mention that their memory of this man was likely distorted, thanks to the Obliviation. There was no way to know how well they had known him _before_ accident, not with so much missing from their memory.

It had struck her then, what an awful thing memory modification was. It was a cruel practice, really, stealing truths from people's minds and replacing them with falsehoods. Magical people should probably find more humane ways to fix their mistakes, even if they were less convenient.

But she was distracting herself again. She had thanked the neighbors and gone in search of more answers.

The other residents she talked to in passing hadn't yielded any further information. Everyone seemed to have the same story, the same memory (or lack thereof) of what exactly had happened the day of the accident or who had caused it. Hermione knew that a home address was not enough: she needed a name, and at least a little bit of information about this person, before she actually approached him. She began to worry she was hitting a dead end until she came upon the house itself. 

The front revealed little of the man inside. This wizard was quite good at keeping up appearances, it seemed. The painted wrought iron gate was in good repair, the garden was neat and fully Muggle, with not a hint of a magical plant to be seen anywhere. The house itself was painted periwinkle blue, fitting in with every other house on the street. Hermione would have no reason to believe a wizard lived here, which almost made her doubt the information the other residents had given her.

But a brief trek around to the back of the house, under the protection of a Disillusionment Charm, revealed something very interesting. She'd found wards there, very mild ones, that seemed focused on protecting the basement. She'd gotten only the smallest whiff of them, and didn't know enough about ward magic to know exactly what spells were in place.

But it had gotten her thinking.

The wizard was a potion-maker. It was the potion's explosion that had caused his accidental magic in the first place, when he was trying to protect himself. She hadn't given it a second thought when Healer Bulstrode had first shared that little detail; plenty of witches and wizards brewed potions in their homes. But if he was warding the place, focusing particularly on his lab, it was likely that he was brewing a lot more than the occasional batch of Pepper-Up. He might run a potions business, in point of fact, which _required_ him, by law, to have certain wards in place if he was running that business in a mostly Muggle neighborhood.

Hermione knew this, because the DTF occasionally helped Muggleborns with this very issue, those who wanted to brew potions regularly but also live among Muggles. Some of the wards were tricky and the Ministry standards were high, and the DTF helped many of these Muggleborn potion-makers apply for Ministry services to have the wards put in for them. It was actually a very common practice, helping them avoid violations they might have incurred had they tried to cast the wards themselves.

More importantly, for Hermione's purposes anyway, there was paperwork on such businesses, and it was a matter of public record.

A morning spent wading through files at the Ministry archive finally gleaned her a name, and a little more information, besides.

Soren Guensler. He was 38 years old, Swiss born, educated at Durmstrang, and currently working as a potions researcher and running a small potions business out of his home in London. There had been very little on him, other than that. The bit of further digging she'd been able to do with her solicitor's credentials had given her nothing of concern. He had no criminal record and had not participated on either side during the second wizarding war. He was, by all accounts, unremarkable.

Still, she felt an unwavering need to get her eyes on him, to talk to him. She couldn’t help but feel that if she did, she would learn something important. She didn’t know why; she just felt it.

Hence the glamour charms. She wasn't about to approach Guensler as herself, not when there was some chance she might be recognized. But she'd needed some practice, and had taken the previous evening to do a trial run of the charms and walk around the house with them in place for a few hours, to make sure they stuck. It was lucky that Ron was away, participating in the annual Auror's retreat, and she had the house to herself for the entire endeavor.

The glamours had lasted over three hours, giving her all the time she needed. And it had been even easier to put them in place the following day.

 _All right_ , she told herself, taking one last careful look in the mirror. _No use dawdling._ She’d taken the afternoon off work for this. There was no point wasting it.

Ignoring the rush of adrenaline that clenched her insides and caused her heart to pound in her chest, she turned on the spot, Disapparating directly out of her bathroom and reappearing in the designated Apparition spot that was closest to her parents’ neighborhood. It was a couple of block's walk, past her own parents' house, and then a turn of a corner, and she was there.

The little blue house: clean, meticulously maintained, artfully landscaped. The man had an attention to detail that was admirable. He was likely a good potion-maker, in point of fact.

She rang the buzzer next to the door, a white button embedded in a shiny brass plate, and then waited patiently on the stoop, her heart still going strong in her ears. A few deep breaths later and some of her excitement subsided. And just in time, too, because the door was answered but a moment after by a lean man in jeans a green button-down shirt. He had sandy blond hair, a pinched, pink mouth, and light blue eyes, which he used to take in the sight of the woman before him.

“Good afternoon,” Hermione said. “My name is Olive Hopkins. I’m looking for Mr. Soren Guensler.”

After a beat he replied. “I’m Soren Guensler. How can I help you?” His voice was a little reedy and carried a noticeable, but not unpleasant, German lilt.

Hermione looked up and down the street, then took a step closer. “I’m a researcher with the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad,” she said, keeping her voice low. “I’m following up on an incident that occurred in your home on the morning of September 2nd. Would it be all right if I asked you a few questions? Strictly for research purposes, you understand.”

Guensler too glanced up and down the street before replying. “You’re from the Ministry?”

“Yes, sir.” She gave the man a bland, professional smile.

“Very well,” he said, after only the slightest hesitation. “Come in.”

“Thank you.” Hermione took another deep breath and she followed him into the house, which was laid out much like her parents’ own. Guensler led her to a sitting room to the right off the foyer and invited her to sit.

“Would you like tea?” he asked her.

“Yes, thank you,” she said, taking that as a good sign. If he was going to serve tea, he was prepared for a full conversation, and might not try to rush her out the door.

While Guensler was in the kitchen Hermione looked around the room, noting, again, how very Muggle it all looked, with the matching sofa and chair set, the vase of peonies on the coffee table, and the sleek electric lamps in every corner.

 _He must entertain Muggles as well_ , Hermione thought. Most interiors of wizarding homes were part Muggle, part magical, as inside their homes they didn’t have to worry much about secrecy. Guensler’s situation was obviously different.

Some movement caught her eye, and she realized that there _was_ something magical in the room after all: wizard photographs.

She stood, leaving her notebook and purse on the sofa and coming to a table against the far wall that was laid out with a number of framed photographs.

Some were only of people Hermione didn’t know, but Guensler himself was in quite a few of them, his arm around someone else in the photograph as he smiled and waved. It was clear that the man liked to travel. Hermione recognized the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, the Forbidden City in Beijing, and a beach that she thought might be in the Caribbean. The turquoise water lapped at the white sand while Guensler, clad in sunglasses and casual Muggle attire, walked alongside a man that looked quite a bit like him.

“Like my photographs?”

Startled, Hermione stood upright, turning to Guensler, who she hadn’t heard come back into the room.

“They’re lovely,” she said, recovering. “You’ve been a lot of places.”

“Yes, my family likes to travel together.”

“How nice. So does mine, when we have the time, though we mostly stay within Europe.”

Guensler nodded. “For us, too, at first. But my brother Lars moved to Beijing a number of years ago, and we started exploring outside the continent.”

“Is that your brother there?” Hermione asked, pointing to the beach picture. Guensler nodded. “What does he do in Beijing?”

“He was a Healer, but now he does mostly research.”

“Oh, how interesting. So you both went into research fields.”

“We have a lot in common,” Guensler replied with a soft smile. “We were very close when we were younger.”

“But not anymore?”

His smile stiffened, just slightly. “It is difficult to stay in touch when we live so far away.”

“Right, naturally.” Hermione didn’t press. That, apparently, was a bit of a sore spot.

“The tea will be ready in a moment.” He gestured toward the sofa. “Shall we?”

“Yes, of course.” She took her place by her things on the sofa while Guensler took one of the chairs.

“You said you’re a researcher as well? For the Ministry?”

“That’s right. The Squad is interested not just in dealing with the aftermath of accidental magic, but also in understanding what causes it, and understanding the nature of it.”

“Is your goal prevention?” he asked. “Because I imagine that would be rather difficult, given that the magic is, by nature, accidental.”

“True,” she said. “It would be hard to prevent altogether. But there are cases in which it might be contained, if we understood the nature of the magic. A lot of accidental magic can obliterate wards, for example, like the ones you have in place on your potions lab. Adding some additional, stronger wards might be able to prevent the kind of damage we saw in this case.”

Guensler nodded thoughtfully at that. "Yes, the burst completely destroyed the wards I had in place. They were just the minor ones, the required ones. You know, to keep fumes from leaking outside the lab and creating suspicion among the Muggle residents."

"Of course," Hermione replied mildly, picking up on the slightly defensive edge in the man's tone. "Those were all that the Ministry required of you, and you followed the letter of the law." She had seen so in the paperwork. "My job is to determine if there is more that the Ministry could be doing, more that they - we - should be requiring, to prevent these sort of accidents."

“I understand, of course, why you would want to do that,” Guensler replied, just as the kettle began to whistle from the kitchen. “That’s the water for the tea,” he said. “Do you like cream or sugar?”

“Oh, yes. Cream, thank you,” she said as he turned away and disappeared into the kitchen. She was rather glad for the breather. She'd done some thinking about how she wanted to approach the situation, of course, but this was already requiring some improvisation. She could only hope that she was coming off as convincing.

She would also love to be able to get an accurate read on Guensler. The man seemed honest, intelligent, and like he had nothing to hide. But she also knew appearances could be misleading. And she was also becoming aware that part of her _wanted_ to catch him in a lie, if only because then she would have someone else to blame for her parents' situation. Which was unfair, really. Her judgment was clouded, and she had to admit that to herself.

 _It would be a great help if Ron were here,_ she thought, a bit glumly. He was trained in this sort of thing. He might have been able to pick up on something about Guensler that she couldn’t, and he would have been able to remain objective. But she had already promised herself that she would not drag Ron into this.

Guensler returned with two mugs of tea, setting one in front of Hermione on the coffee table. She thanked him, then dipped the bag in and out a few times as she waited for it to steep. He'd forgotten the cream, it seemed, but she didn't much care. She could drink it black.

“I won’t ask you to retell all of the events as they unfolded, Mr. Guensler,” she said, infusing her voice with calm authority. “I’m more interested in the nature of the accidental magic than the events that caused it. If we could focus on that, it would be very helpful.”

“All right.”

“If you could describe for me what you saw, felt, and heard at the moment of your magical outburst?”

Guensler stared into his mug of tea. “It all happened so fast.”

“I understand. But you may remember more than you realize. Close your eyes, if that helps.”

Guensler eyed her skeptically for a moment before complying.

“Good,” Hermione said, aware that she was flying by the seat of her pants. She could only hope that this worked. “Now, think back to what you were doing the moments before the explosion. You were brewing your potion…”

“Yes. I was… crushing acromantula hair with my mortar and pestle.”

“Good. What happened next?”

“I… added it to the potion. It started to bubble, and then…” His closed eyes squeezed tighter. “The cauldron burst. I shielded by body with my arms, and my hands… they went white hot. I remember it was, sharp, like electricity, like lightning.” He opened his eyes. “It was like I had been shocked, but in reverse.” He shook his head. “That doesn’t make any sense, does it?”

“No, that’s very good,” Hermione said, writing furiously. “What did it sound like? Look like?”

“Like cracking open the sun… if the sun was white instead of yellow. There was a burst of white light. It went out in all directions.”

Hermione nodded vigorously. She could work with this.

“You’re not drinking your tea.”

“Hm?” Hermione looked up from her notebook to see he was staring at the mug in front of her.

“You asked for cream, didn’t you? I’ll fetch it.”

“Oh, I…” But he’d already stood and left the room.

She looked over the description so far as she waited, deciding what else she needed to know, but it was hard to focus. She felt giddy, lightheaded. Her plan was actually working! If she could get enough a detailed enough description of the kind of energy, the kind of magic, it was, she might be able to determine what specifically it had done to her parents’ minds. She needed some good texts on magical theory, she reminded herself. She’d go by Flourish and Blott’s after she was done here to pick up a few.

Guensler returned with a small carton and placed it in front of her.

“Thank you,” she said. She added a dash of cream to her tea and stirred it with a spoon before taking a sip. She paused a moment when she realized the tea tasted a bit sweet. Guensler must have prepared it with sugar instead of cream, the first time around. Her presence must have been making him more nervous than she realized. She shook herself. It didn’t matter. “Tell me more about what the burst sounded like.” She took another sip of tea before putting it down and returning her attention to her notes.

“Well…” Guensler began, tilting his head and thinking back. “There was… a _crack_ sort of sound, and then a great _whoosh_ as the magic released.”

"A _crack_ , like lightning striking?"

"Yes, very much like that. Or like... stone splitting apart."

"Mm," Hermione answered vaguely, still writing.

"Like I said, it was all very fast. I would say it took all of a few..." But his words trailed off, making Hermione look up from her notebook. A white light drifted into the room, and they both stared at it in confusion.

It coalesced for a moment before forming itself into a corporeal Patronus. Hermione felt her stomach seize as she saw that it was a greyhound, one she recognized. She suddenly felt a bit sick. She’d gotten this message before.

“This is a Patronus from the Auror Corps Family Alert System,” said the greyhound in a calm, female voice. “This is to inform you that Auror Ronald Bilius Weasley has been taken to St. Mungo’s Hospital with a severe injury. As his emergency contact your presence is required in the Spell Damage ward. Good day.” The Patronus vanished with a puff.

Hermione stood abruptly, feeling dazed, barely registering the fact that Guensler was gaping at her, open-mouthed.

“Ms. Hopkins?” she heard him ask through the fog of panic that was descending upon her.

“I’m sorry. I have to go,” she managed in a choked whisper, before pulling out her wand. She gathered her things to her and turned on the spot.

The suffocating sensation of Apparition hardly helped the dizzying panic swirling around in her head, and when she landed in the entrance of St. Mungo’s she staggered forward, unable to stay upright any longer. She was vaguely aware of someone running towards her, shouting, and a pair of hands gripping her at the elbows, catching her mid-fall.

 _Thank you,_ she wanted to say to her helper, but couldn’t form the words. The fog was blanketing over her, making everything fuzzy, and there was a roaring in her ears that drowned out everything else. She fought half-heartedly for a second or two, but it was no use. She had no choice but to close her eyes and give into it, falling into blackness.

***

When Hermione came to, the roaring was gone, leaving a strange sense of quiet around her. It took her a moment to register the faint sounds of people talking and moving around. It sounded like it was all happening behind a thick door.

There were closer sounds, too. The ticking of a clock, and the deep, even rhythm of someone breathing.

She opened her eyes and saw Ron. He was in a bed, not but a few meters from her. She was in a bed, too, she realized. One just like Ron’s, only on the other side of their small hospital room. After she’d fainted someone must have recognized her, realized why she was there, and put her in the room with Ron.

She touched her face and ran fingers through her hair. It was all familiar; her glamour spells had broken. She wondered when that had happened, and decided it must have been when she blacked out.

 _I can’t believe I fainted_. She was a little embarrassed about that. The first time Ron was injured, she had been near hysterical, but she had remained conscious. For some reason, this time around was even more of a shock.

Sitting up, she found to her relief that the dizziness was gone as well. She hopped off the bed and came to Ron’s, looking him over with a careful eye.

He was unconscious, probably dosed with a sleeping draught. His left arm was in a sling, but the rest of him looked fine. Other than the arm, and that he was a little pale, he looked healthy and intact.

 _He reinjured his arm somehow_ , she speculated. It was the only explanation she could think of. _But how?_

“Oh, good, you’re up,” came a familiar voice, and Hermione turned to see Draco standing in the doorway in his pale blue Healer robes.

“Draco,” Hermione said in surprise as he came into the room. “Are you on Ron’s case?”

The blond shook his head. “No, but I heard he was brought in, and I knew it was only a matter of time before you showed up. A friend of mine working a shift on this ward told me you’d lost consciousness on your way in. I made sure they put you in here so you’d be close to him when you woke up.”

“That was very thoughtful of you,” Hermione said, blushing with more embarrassment at the prospect of having fainted like a damsel in front of all those people. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.”

“You’re still on shift?”

He nodded. “Until eight. But when I get off I can stick around. I’ll tell Harry to come by too, if you want. He can leave Teddy with Molly for the night. I thought you might like the company.”

“I would,” Hermione said gratefully. She turned to look at Ron. “But mostly right now I just want to know what happened. I guess you wouldn’t have the details, would you?”

“I don’t know how he got injured again,” he replied. “You’ll probably have to talk to the Aurors to get that story. But I do know it’s his shoulder, and they had to do the same procedure they did last time, where they…” He paused.

“I remember.” Last time, they’d had to reattach his shoulder to its socket, knit the skin back together, and extract the residual magic that lingered from the curse. Hermione hadn’t been there, but she’d heard all about it. She hadn’t been able to get those images out of her head for weeks. “It was successful?”

“That’s what they tell me,” said Draco. “I can grab one of the residents on the case and they can tell you more, but it sounds like he’ll fully recover.”

Hermione heaved a sigh. “Thank Merlin,” she whispered.

“It would be best if he didn’t do this again, though,” Draco said drily. “I think he’s used up all his luck on this one.”

“No kidding,” said Hermione, feeling her face tighten. “I want to know how the hell this even happened.”

“Uh-oh,” said Draco, sounding amused. “I know that look. Heads will roll.”

“You’re damn right,” she replied.

He smirked. “Can I stay and watch?”

“Don’t you have a job you’re supposed to be doing?” she asked him, arching a brow. “Saving lives and all that?”

Draco’s smile turned sheepish. “Yes, as a matter of fact I do. If I had all day to spend here, I would, you know.”

“I do know, Draco. Thanks. But I’ll be all right.” She felt her brave face crumbling even as she said it, a lump forming in her throat. Draco stepped forward and wrapped his arms around her.

“I’m sorry this happened again,” he said softly. “You must have been terrified.”

“Shocked,” Hermione admitted. “I was reliving the whole thing over again.”

“I can only imagine.”

“You prepare yourself for this, you know. Or you try to. But when it actually happens…” She trailed off, realizing she had no way to properly describe the fear, the absolute world-shattering panic.

“I know. I think a lot about how glad I am that Harry decided not to become an Auror. I’m not sure I could handle it as well as you do with Ron.”

“You would have found a way, I’m sure,” she said, pulling back from him. “But I’m glad too. I’ve enough to worry about without adding Harry's safety to the mix.”

“Yes, and Merlin knows you’ve had plenty to worry about lately, especially, haven’t you?”

Hermione looked up at him, and thought he might be giving her a significant look, as if… as if he knew about her parents.

“Yes, I have,” she replied. “What with Ron getting injured twice now, and… and Andromeda’s illness, and everything.”

He looked down at her, as if contemplating his answer. Finally, he nodded. “Yes. It’s been one hell of an autumn, hasn’t it?”

Hermione nodded in reply, suppressing a relieved sigh.

“I have to get back to my patients.”

“Of course,” Hermione said, patting him on the arm. “Do what you need to do. I’ll see you later?”

“Sure. I’ll come by around eight or a little after. And I’ll floo call Harry once he’s home with Teddy, which should be soon. He’ll come when he can I’m sure.”

“Great.”

“For now, why don’t I tell Ron’s Healers that you’re ready to speak with them?”

“Yes, thank you.”

After another brief hug Draco left, and only a few minutes later Healer Tomlinson, a willowy wizard with a bald spot forming in his sandy hair, appeared, along with one of his residents.

Hermione was glad to see Healer Tomlinson on the case. He was Ron’s Healer last time, and so was familiar with the previous injury. He talked Hermione through what had happened when Ron arrived at St. Mungo’s and what they did to treat him.

“I don’t know the circumstances of the injury,” he said to Hermione when she asked. “But I can tell you it was a different curse than last time.”

Hermione’s brow furrowed. “But with the same effect?”

“The first injury was nearly healed, but not quite, so any powerful dark magic acting upon it probably would have had the same effect. It reopened the wound.”

“So the treatment protocol will be the same.”

Tomlinson nodded.

“How long?” The recovery period the first time had been long enough. She dreaded to think of how long it would take this time around.

“We’re looking at another six to eight months. So, about the same. But I want to increase the intensity of the treatment. We’ll return to the potions regimen we used last time, but keep it going for longer. And you’re familiar with the healing salve?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes. That seemed to work well for him.”

“Good. And I’ll want him to come to the hospital for treatment every two weeks, to siphon off more of the residual magic from the curse. It’s going to be intense for these first few months.”

“We’re supposed to get married in May. Should we push it back, give him more time to heal?”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” the Healer replied. “There will be a lot of healing up front, but he will be mostly recovered by April, I think. Then it’s just a matter of taking it easy, as we instructed before.” His expression looked suddenly admonishing, though not necessarily directed at Hermione herself. “Again, I don’t know the circumstances of his injury, but it was a very powerful curse that did this, not an accident.”

“You’re implying he must have gotten it while battling a dark witch or wizard.”

Tomlinson shrugged. “It’s not for me to say, but that is the most likely scenario. You’ll have to discuss the specifics with the Aurors. However, I cannot stress enough how important it is that this never, ever happen again. If Auror Weasley injures that shoulder a third time, he will not be so lucky. He could very well lose full function, or lose the arm itself and need a prosthesis. This is very serious.”

“I understand completely,” said Hermione. “I will be sure to stress the seriousness of the situation to Ron and to the Corps. This will not happen again, not if I have any say in it.”

Tomlinson nodded, looking satisfied. “Good.” They discussed more of the specifics of Ron’s treatment, what he would need in terms of at-home care for the next few weeks, and what to expect during the process.

“Auror Weasley will likely be asleep for another couple of hours. We’ll be back around half five, to see if he's awake and give him a round of potions. If he wakes before then, let his Mediwitch know and she’ll fetch us.”

“I will, thank you.”

Tomlinson gave her a reassuring smile. “Your fiancé is a strong wizard and a fast healer,” he said. “And he was, again, very lucky. It’s going to be all right, Ms. Granger, I can assure you. We’ll take very good care of him.”

“I know you will,” said Hermione. “I’m very glad to see you on the case.”

“My pleasure. I’ll see you soon.”

The Healers left, and Hermione took a seat in a chair next to Ron’s bed, resting back and remaining silent as she watched his chest rise and fall.

 _What were you doing Ron?_ she wondered. _How did this happen? Did you go into the field when you weren’t supposed to?_

She didn’t think Ron would do that. He had been very careful throughout his recovery. And he had been so close to being fully healed. Why would he have risked that?

There was a knock on the door, and Hermione turned, expecting to see a Mediwitch, or perhaps Draco again, coming to check on Ron. But she saw neither.

It was Gerald Weekes, looking pale and shaken.

“Hermione,” he said. “Can I come in?”

Hermione stood. “Gerald.” She hadn’t known him long, as he and Ron had only been working together a few months. But he was a good Auror and clearly looked up to Ron and worked hard for him, and that ingratiated him to Hermione considerably.

“I wanted to come earlier,” he said, “but they kept me at the Ministry for a while, to give a statement.”

“What happened? Were you there?”

“I was there.” The Auror ran a hand through his brown hair. “We all were. All the Senior Aurors, anyway.”

“Tell me.” She gestured to another chair and returned to hers.

Weekes sat down, clasping his hands in front of him. “It was the Green Adders. You know who I’m talking about?”

“Yes. Ron’s told me about them.” The Green Adders was a group of former Death Eaters, fugitives who had managed to avoid Azkaban after the war because they were never caught. Apparently they were working in secret, furthering the cause of blood purity by violent means. They had become active only in the past year or so, but she knew they had already caused plenty of trouble for the Ministry.

“Right, well… they attacked us during the retreat. I don’t know how they found us; we were in the middle of nowhere, protective wards all around…”

“The entire Corps?”

“Well, not all of us. Ron and I had returned to the Ministry already with the Junior Aurors. But we weren’t there long before we received a distress call from the group. All of the Senior Aurors were ambushed. It was totally unexpected, and the faction was… large. Larger than we would have thought. They’ve obviously been recruiting.”

Hermione took that in, horrified. “They were trying to… kill Aurors?”

“Terrorize us, more like. They weren’t using any Unforgiveables, although they used plenty of dark spells. I think they were trying to scare us, show us what they were capable of. But those of us back at the Ministry, Robards, Ron, me, the Junior Aurors, we didn’t know that. They were calling for backup, and we… well, we went.”

“All of you?”

Weekes shook his head. “Me, Ron, and some of the more experienced Junior Aurors, anyone who was close to making Senior. The new recruits stayed behind with Robards.”

“This was… a decision you made together?” Hermione asked.

“No. Robards ordered us.”

“He ordered Ron?”

“Yes. He said it was imperative Ron go, since he was the highest ranking Auror among us.”

“Other than Robards,” Hermione pointed out.

“Well… yes,” Weekes admitted.

Hermione thought about that. It looked like she was going to have to have a little talk with the Head Auror. “What happened next?” she asked, needing to know the rest.

“When we arrived at the scene, it was chaos. Spells flying everywhere. A few Aurors were wounded, and some were tending to them. The rest were battling the Adders. But they were outnumbered, so Ron and I joined the fray.” He paused, running a hand over his mouth. “I didn’t see it happen. I was dealing with my own battle, but I heard him yell. Ron. I knew it was him, and I knew… it was bad.” He swallowed, staring at the floor.

“Tell me,” Hermione said, steeling herself. “Go on. It’s all right.”

“Another Auror, Woo, he stepped in to help me, and we got our Adder bound and captured. So I went to Ron. I… there was a lot of blood. He was half-conscious. I recognized… I knew some details about the injury he got before, and I knew… I could see it had happened again and I knew he would have to come to St. Mungo’s. So I Apparated him out and brought him here. The Healers rushed me as soon as I landed on the ward. They didn’t wait…” He swallowed again. “They dosed him with a potion to knock him out and they put his arm back on right there, right in front of me. They told me they were going to admit him, put him in treatment. I knew there was nothing I could do, so I went back to the other Aurors.”

“You did exactly the right thing,” Hermione told him, her voice shaky. She put a hand on his arm. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t know, Hermione, I swear.” He looked at her with pleading, glistening eyes. “If I had known his shoulder was prone to… to reinjury, I would have… I don’t know. I would have-“

“What? Stopped Ron from going, go against Robards’ orders?”

Weekes looked at the floor again. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“This wasn’t your fault,” Hermione insisted. “The very opposite. I’m thanking Merlin right now that you were there, that you got him out in time to save the arm.”

Weekes’ shoulders sagged. “It was so… strange, seeing him like that.” He turned to look at Ron, who was still asleep in the bed. “He always seemed invincible to me, even after I knew about his injury.”

“No one is invincible,” Hermione replied.

“No, I guess not. But he seemed totally recovered, you know. I saw him working out with the trainees all the time. He didn’t seem to be in any pain.”

“He wasn’t,” Hermione said. “Physically, he was back to full capacity. But what the Healers told us the first time around… curses like what caused Ron’s injury leave behind harmful magic. The Healers can get rid of some of it, but some of it has to be processed by the body, by the magical core, and rendered inert. That takes some time. That was why Ron wasn’t supposed to go out in the field. Exposing the shoulder to more magic of a similar nature, very dark magic, essentially, could trigger a kind of ripple effect. That’s what his Healer told me just a few minutes ago. The residual magic in his shoulder and the magic from the curse reacted, compounding on each other and… and causing the new injury.”

Weekes shook his head in disbelief. “I had no idea. I didn’t… I had no idea.”

“There was no reason for you to know that,” Hermione said. “It wasn’t your job to know it. But it _was_ Robards’. The Healers left very specific instructions, which they provided both to me and to Robards, about what Ron should and should not do while in recovery. And the most important one of all was that Ron was not supposed to go into the field, not until his Healers gave the all clear. Robards _knew_ that.”

“I’m sure he didn’t make the decision lightly,” Weekes said softly. “It was a tough call. He thought most of his Corps was in mortal danger.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Hermione said. “Not to me. If he was so concerned about his Aurors, he should have gone himself.”

“As Head Auror, he hasn’t been in the field in a long time…” Weekes trailed off, grimacing under the look Hermione was giving him.

“I appreciate everything you did, Gerald. Ron and I both owe you a lot. But please, never defend Robards’ decision to me. There is no argument you could make that would make me accept it.”

Weekes nodded. He looked over at Ron again. “So, he’ll be all right.”

“Yes,” Hermione said with a sigh. “He will recover fully, Thank Merlin. But he has a few hard months ahead of him, and even longer than that before he can return to the field. Robards may have been looking for the most convenient solution in the moment, but the repercussions… I guess that will be my first question to him. I want to know if he thinks it was worth it, risking Ron like that.”

“And if he says it was?”

“Then…” Hermione considered her answer. “Then, I don’t know. I suppose Ron and I will have to have a conversation about his job, about the man he’s working for, and if the Corps is really kind of organization that Ron wants to be a part of.”

“I hope it doesn’t come to that,” Weekes said. “But I understand why you feel that way.”

“Thanks.” She watched Ron as she spoke. “I know he loves this job. And I know how good he is at it. And I want him to be happy. But I also won’t let it destroy him. I won’t stand for it.”

They were silent for a while, until Weekes said he should get back to the office.

“Don’t you deserve a rest, after everything that just happened?”

He gave her a wry smile. “No rest for me tonight. We captured a few of the Adders during the attack. We’re doing interviews. Since one of the captures was mine, I’m… expected.”

She looked at him in sympathy. “Well, good luck.”

“Thanks.”

“I guess that means Robards will still be in the office.”

“He should be.”

“Good. Then tell him to come here. I want to speak with him.”

Weekes let out a small laugh. “I don’t exactly get to order my Head Auror around, you know.”

“Think of it more as you’re delivering a message from me.”

“All right, but I can’t guarantee he’ll come.”

Hermione smirked. “If he resists, tell him he has two choices: he can either spend a few minutes talking to me now, as the distraught fiancée of one of his Aurors, or he can spend a very long time talking to me later, as the distraught fiancée _and_ a ruthless solicitor. You tell him that and see which choice he picks.”

Weekes smiled. “I can see why Ron is so mad about you.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll give Robards the message.”

“Thanks.”

He took his leave, and Hermione was alone again with an unconscious Ron, wondering how long it would take Robards to show up, and determining exactly what she wanted to say to him when he did.

He surely would know that she was livid, that she held him responsible. But she didn’t yet know how much he cared about that. She’d always found the man difficult to read. When it became clear that Ron would be an invaluable Auror in the Corps, Robards was very effusive about him, and there was a lot of talk about making sure to keep him happy, help him advance in his career, and all the normal things a boss says about one of their favorite employees. By all appearances Robards was very fond of Ron. But with his injury the first time Hermione started to see the way that fondness would only stretch so far – namely, only as far as Ron was useful to him. And that bothered Hermione immensely. Robards’ Aurors were not merely pieces on a chess board. They were human beings, too.

Ron would not be muscled out of the Corps over this, not so long as he wanted to stay. And he would not be swindled out of any of the compensation he was entitled to, either. She would make sure of it.

But first, Robards had to show up.

She was tired of waiting, and was just considering taking out her notebook and looking over her interview with Guensler when there was another knock on the door. She could tell, just by the slow, powerful rhythm, that it was Robards.

She opened the door to find the Head Auror standing there, looking harassed and impatient. “Hermione,” he said flatly, by way of greeting.

“Gawain,” she replied in the same tone. “Thank you for coming.”

“I don’t have long,” he said. “I know you spoke to Auror Weekes, so you know that we have quite a situation back at the Ministry to deal with.”

“I do know; I won’t keep you but a few minutes. Would you like to come inside?”

She gestured him in and he followed, but still lingered by the door when she closed it, not coming further into the room or even glancing in the direction of Ron’s bed.

“As I said, I don’t have long.”

“I just wanted to make sure, before things go any further with Ron’s treatment, that we understood each other and what needs to happen.”

Robards raised an eyebrow. “What needs to happen?”

“Making sure that Ron is taken care of. I’m sure you must realize that I hold you personally responsible for what’s happened. Therefore I expect you to make it right.”

“If you’re talking about compensation, I can assure you it’s being handled,” Robards said coldly. “Exactly as it was the last time. His hospital bills will be covered, and he’ll receive fully paid leave for recovery, not to mention a generous compensation package on top of that.”

“Yes, he will, and I’m gratified to hear that you will see to it. But I wasn’t just talking about the financial side of things. I’m talking about his job. I’m talking about helping him maintain his sanity while he’s stuck behind a desk for the next six to eight months. I hope you’re not intending to simply leave him with eight hours worth of paperwork to complete each day, or other clerical work. It won’t be good for him. He should be working real cases, contributing in a real, vital way, or he’ll start to feel useless.”

“I will put him to work as I see fit,” Robards replied.

“Doing things ‘as you see fit’ is what got us into this mess. I’m beginning to doubt whether you have Ron’s best interests at heart.”

Robards narrowed his eyes. “How dare you suggest such a thing?”

“Then _why_ did you do it? Why send him into the field, when you knew he was under strict orders from his Healers not to go?”

“I made a judgment call. The other Aurors were in danger and Auror Weasley was the best option we had. I didn’t think Weekes and the Junior Aurors I sent would be able to handle it on their own.”

“And, of course, _you_ couldn’t go with them.”

“Someone had to stay behind with the remaining Junior Aurors, in case the Green Adders attacked the Ministry as well.”

“Which you thought likely?”

Robards’ jaw tightened. “I don’t see why I need to justify myself to you, Ms. Granger.”

“Let me explain it then, in a way you will understand,” Hermione said, straightening up. Robards’ had almost a foot on her, height-wise, but he still leaned back automatically, reacting to her change in posture. “You may see Ron as just another one of your Aurors, one you can use as you see fit, but he’s also one of the most competent, most decorated, and most loved in the Corps, and there are plenty, including the Minister of Magic himself, who would never simply stand by and watch his rights be violated like this. On top of that, he is the center of _my_ universe, and if I thought he was being harmed, I would use everything I have, including my connections, my influence, and my vast knowledge of our legal system, to put a stop to it and end whoever was hurting him.” She took a step closer. “Right now, you’re hurting him. You’ve hurt him, and you will have to reckon with that. The fact that I’m not already taking legal action against you and the Corps is a mercy you should be thanking me for. And from here on out, I expect you to follow the Healers’ mandates about Ron’s treatment and work restrictions to the letter. If I get even a whiff of a violation, I will sue the Corps under the Auror Rights Protection Act for all I can, and I will certainly see to it that you are out of a job.” She stepped back again, not breaking her gaze. “Does that answer your question?”

Robards’ mouth was twisted like he’d swallowed something vile, but he nodded. “I believe we understand each other.”

“Good.” Hermione smiled mildly at him. “I promised I wouldn’t keep you long. That was all I needed to say. So, unless there was something you needed from me?”

“No,” he replied. “There’s nothing. I need to return to the Ministry.”

“All right. Good luck with the interviews.”

He eyed her carefully a moment, but said, merely, "Good day, then.”

“Good day to you,” she replied as he turned to go. “Oh, and Ron is going to make a full recovery,” she added drily. “Thanks for asking.”

Robards’ seemed to have nothing to say to that, and merely left.

Hermione released a shaky breath and made her way back over to the chair by Ron’s bed, sinking heavily into it. That exchange had been rather cathartic, actually, but it left her a quivering bundle of energy. It took her a while to calm down.

It was nice to be alone with only a sleeping Ron for a little while. Draco stopped by to let her know that he had spoken to Harry, who would be coming by just as soon as he got Teddy fed and settled in at the Burrow. Hermione thanked him, and he left soon after. She was alone again to wait for Ron to awaken.

While she waited Hermione went over the notes she’d taken from her very brief interview with Soren Guensler. She hadn’t gotten nearly the details she had wanted, but she _did_ have something to work from. Guensler’s description could at least give her a sense of what kind of magic they were dealing with, and that alone might be a help.

It was clear that it would be too much of a risk to return to Guensler’s house and try to finish the interview. She had left very abruptly, and there was a good chance that Patronus gave her away. She, Hermione, wasn’t named in the message, but Ron was. There was a chance that Guensler, if he understood enough about the war and its most famous participants, might put two and two together and realize she wasn’t who she said she was.

Or, with any luck, he wouldn’t, and would let it go so long as she didn’t make a reappearance.

 _What if he reports the incident to the Ministry, though?_ she wondered, anxiety squeezing her gut painfully. _It wouldn’t take much for them to make the leap that it was me, in disguise, posing as a Ministry official._

She breathed through the panic. Guensler might not figure it out. Or he might not want to risk making trouble for himself. If she left it alone, he might do the same.

The thought of returning to his house and Obliviating him crossed her mind, but she quickly dismissed it. This was getting well out of hand already, and hadn't she just been thinking earlier in the day about the moral problems with memory modification? She wasn't about to go down that road again.

Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe it would come back and bite her in the arse in the worst way. But there was also a chance that it wouldn’t. There was also a chance that the risk would pay off, if the information she gathered turned out to be helpful to her parents’ case.

Ron stirred, and Hermione quickly shrunk her notebook and slipped it into her purse. She scooted her chair closer, reaching out to touch Ron’s hand lightly as he opened his eyes and blinked a few times. His gaze found hers.

“’Mione,” he croaked.

“Hello, love,” she said softly. “Welcome back.”

Ron took a few deep breaths, blinking slowly. He turned his head, looking around the room.

“Is it me, or have we been here before?” He gave her a weak, but wry, smile.

Hermione let out a watery laugh. “Yes, we have.”

His smile faded. “Tell me honestly. Am I going to be stuck behind a desk for the rest of my career?”

“No, love,” she said, running her fingers over his hand, trying to soothe him. “The Healers told me you’ll recover fully.” She paused; he was still looking at her. “But it is going to take a while.”

Ron closed his eyes, absorbing that. “The wedding?” he asked.

“They‘re confident that you will be mostly recovered by then, enough that it shouldn’t a problem. You may even be fully healed. It depends on how closely you follow their instructions.”

“Then I’ll be sure to follow them quite closely,” he replied. They remained silent a moment. Hermione continued to play her fingers across his hand and up his bare arm. Ron hummed. “You’re being very sweet,” he said. “I thought you’d want to murder me.”

“You think I’d do that? Really?” Hermione asked, fighting a smile.

“It was the first thought I had when the curse hit.” Ron reconsidered after a moment. “Well, maybe not the first. The _first_ thought I had was, _Ow, this fucking hurts_. The second thought I had was, _Hermione is going to kill me._ And… I don’t really remember much after that.”

“I have no interest in murdering you,” she replied. “I've been saving my energy for Robards.”

Hermione watched as Ron’s expression darkened, various emotions flitting across his face in quick succession. “Right,” he said finally.

She eyed him carefully. “He forced you to go out there.”

“He ordered me to,” Ron said mildly.

“Which, when it comes to you, is practically the same thing.”

“I wouldn’t have lost my job if I refused. I knew that.”

“But he still had no right to order it in the first place. He knew if he did, you would follow it. You always do.”

“The lives of the other Senior Aurors were on the line.”

“I know,” she replied gently. “Which is why I’m not angry with you. But Robards should have known better. He _did_ know better.”

“You’ve spoken with him already, then, I take it?” Ron asked, his voice dry with amusement.

“Yes,” said Hermione, unable to help a small but satisfied smirk.

“What did you say to him?” He watched her, his eyes warm and glinting.

“I told him if he ever goes against your Healers' instructions again, I’ll sue the Corps and have him out of a job.”

Ron chuckled.

“I will, too,” Hermione insisted.

“It’s not that I doubt you, love. It’s just that I wish I could have seen it for myself.”

“Yes, I imagine it was probably quite entertaining. And it made me feel better.” She sobered her expression. “But I also meant it. Every word. The Healers told me if you injure that shoulder again, that could be it. You might lose function in the arm entirely. Then you really would be stuck behind a desk, or be forced to retire. And even with magical prosthetics these days, it’s just not the same. I couldn’t bear it if-“

“Love,” Ron interrupted her. “You don’t have to sell me on it. I won’t go out into the field again, I promise. Not until I know it’s safe for me. Or for my arm, at least.”

Hermione released a breath. “All right.” She reached up, stroking lightly across his cheek. “I believe you.” Her hand drifted to his chest and rested there, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “How are you feeling?” she asked finally. “Would you like some water? I can get your Mediwitch for you.”

“In a moment,” said Ron. “First I want you to come here.”

“I am here,” Hermione said. “I’m as close as I can get.”

“Not quite.” He made to scoot and make room for her in the bed.

“You’re not serious. There’s barely enough room for you.”

“Come up here. Please,” he said softly.

Feeling a bit silly, she removed her shoes and climbed up onto the hospital bed. Ron wrapped his good arm around her and held her to him, while she found a spot to rest her head in the crook of his neck. They lay there in silence, slowly relaxing into each other.

“All right,” she admitted, after a while. “This is nice.”

“I know,” Ron replied. She felt him turn his head towards her, and she tilted hers up to look at him. He stared down at her, unblinking. “I will never leave you,” he said. “Not by death or otherwise. Not for a very long time.”

Brown eyes looked into sincere blue. “Don’t make promises you might not be able to keep.”

“Making the promise only makes me more determined to keep it,” said Ron. “And I never want you to doubt that I value my life. That it is my intention, my _will_ , to come home to you at the end of every day. I will not be reckless. I need you to believe that.”

“I do,” Hermione said immediately. How could she listen to him the way he sounded, look at him the way he looked, and ever doubt him? Her hand tightened over his chest, gripping the thin hospital gown. “I do.”


	20. Breathe Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know things have been pretty angsty and plot-y the last few chapters, so it's time for some of that good ol' Drarry fluff-n-smut, don't you think?
> 
> Really though, this is incredibly fluffy. Hopefully in a good way. <3

(Harry)

_Five years._

Harry grinned to himself as his tongue traced the shell of Draco’s ear, making his lover shudder against him.

He’d had five years of this already, five years of Draco, and he was not even close to having enough.

In fact, he thought as he nipped at Draco’s shoulder and caressed his abdomen with light brushes of his fingers, he had been craving this even more recently, the chance to wake up next to a naked Draco, to tease him until he begged and then fuck him with merciless slowness. He’d been thinking about this for a long time.

Not that they were even fucking yet. He hadn’t been able to get past the teasing stage. He was enjoying himself too much, with Draco's back cradled against Harry's front so much of Draco easily accessible to him.

“Gods, Harry, you’re killing me,” Draco said, as one of Harry’s hands dipped into the cleft of Draco’s arse and then ran down, pressing lightly into his perineum and then gently massaging his bollocks. He had been neglecting Draco’s cock completely, but he already knew, from intuition alone, how rock hard it was.

“I know, baby,” Harry said into his ear. “I just can’t help myself. I want to caress every inch of you.” He deliberately let his naked erection bump against Draco’s entrance, making the other man whimper with need.

“And yet there are only a few inches of my body I actually _care_ about you paying attention to,” Draco growled.

Harry chuckled against his neck. “Oh, I don’t know. I wouldn’t say a _few_.” He finally touched Draco’s cock with one finger, starting at the base and running the pad of his index all the way to the tip. There was already precum leaking out in little pulses, and Harry swirled it around with his finger as Draco gasped. The cock was well-lubed now, and Harry wrapped his fingers around it and gave one slow pump. Draco moaned. “I would say _many_. Wouldn’t want you to sell yourself _short_.”

Draco let out a surprised laugh. This seemed to break him out of the trance Harry had put him under, because he moved quickly, rolling over and then on top of Harry.

“Fuck me,” he said, his gray eyes glinting.

“So _demanding_ ,” Harry admonished. “I thought I was supposed to be in charge here.”

“You’re insisting on torturing me,” Draco replied. He adjusted himself so he was straddling Harry. “So maybe it’s time I took control.” He ran his arse teasingly along Harry’s cock.

Harry groaned, and had to admit to himself that he was quite game for this position. It would mean that Draco would get to control the pace, true, but, on the other hand, from here Harry would get to watch the whole show. And images of Draco bouncing on his cock were exactly what he wanted right now.

But maybe he could have the best of both worlds.

“Or,” he said, infusing his voice with authority. “You could be a good boy and do exactly what I tell you.”

He watched as Draco stared down at him, his lips parted in blatant arousal. “And what’s that?” he panted.

“You may ride me,” Harry stated imperiously, as though he was bestowing some great favor upon him. “But you must go slow. You have to make it last. If I don’t like the pace, if you don’t do as I say, I take over.”

“Yes, Harry,” Draco said, all breathy and obedient, and Harry grinned up at him in approval.

“Go on then, Draco,” Harry coaxed. “Impale yourself on my cock. Take every inch into that gorgeous arse of yours.”

Draco moaned again, as if nothing would make him happier, and Harry’s cock twitched in anticipation. Draco grabbed it with one hand to steady himself and began to sink down, already well-prepared for the intrusion.

It would have been so easy to close his eyes and fully surrender to the heat engulfing him, but Harry was determined not to miss a second of this, and so kept his eyes open. Draco was taking it slow, as instructed, and Harry took in every detail of the expression of bliss unfolding on Draco’s face. Draco released a small, breathy moan, then bit his lip, his eyes closed and the rest of his body still, as though the only thing that mattered in the world at that moment was the way Harry’s cock felt inside him.

When he finally bottomed out, both men groaned with mutual approval, and Draco opened his eyes. He stared down at Harry, and Harry nodded to him, giving him permission.

Draco steadied himself with his hands on Harry’s chest and began to move. He lifted up, high enough that Harry felt the cool morning air surround his cock again, and then sank back down, bringing it back into the heat. It was exquisite.

“That’s it, Draco,” Harry said, as he did it again, riding Harry as if in slow motion. “That’s just right.”

“Harry,” Draco moaned. “I need…”

“I know,” said Harry. “Find it. Find it inside you.”

Draco adjusted his angle and sank down again, crying out. “Oh Gods, Harry! Right there.”

Harry grinned and started moving his hips, just enough to bump against Draco’s prostate in little thrusts.

“Oh, fuck yes,” Draco said, his whole body shuddering. He was already starting to lose it, trying to ride Harry faster. “Oh, fuck, oh yes, Harry, fuck!”

Harry grabbed him by the hips. “Slow,” he commanded. A part of him wanted to give in and let Draco go as fast and hard as he wanted. And eventually he would let him. But he wanted to see how long he could get Draco to obey.

Draco whimpered at the reminder and started going slow again. He was panting heavily with the effort, his eyes closing once more. Harry relished the sight of Draco getting lost, the way his lean muscles stretched and worked, the way his angry, red cock bobbed slowly in time with the rhythm of his downward thrusts.

“Look at me,” Harry instructed, his tone brooking no argument.

Draco obeyed, and though those gray eyes were glazed with lust they locked onto his and stayed there, as if hypnotized.

Harry let their pace lull Draco into an almost meditative state of tantric pleasure before, in one swift movement, he grabbed Draco by the hips and slammed him down onto his cock, his own hips thrusting upward to meet him. Draco cried out in surprise, but the moan that followed told Harry he’d gotten the angle just right. He did it again.

“Harry!”

He wanted full control now, and he took it, lifting his hips and rolling, effectively pinning Draco to the bed with his body. Draco seemed to have no complaints about the change in position, especially since Harry was already slamming his cock hard into his prostate once again.

“My turn,” Harry said, his voice a carnal growl. He picked up the pace, making Draco let out a sound that was like a continuous rolling moan as his sweet spot was bombarded again and again. “This what you wanted?” he panted in the blond’s ear. “Is this what you’ve been waiting for?”

“Yes, Harry, yes!” Draco gasped.

“Are you going to come, Draco? Are you going to come from my cock inside you?”

He hoped the answer was yes, because he was being spurred onto orgasm faster than he was expecting with this pace, and he wasn’t sure how long he could hold off.

“I’m so close, Harry,” Draco said. “Please, I just need… just a little more.”

Trusting his instincts, Harry actually slowed down a little, making sure he could find the nub inside Draco again, he rubbed along it as Draco moaned and moaned, then started to beg.

With his climax right on the brink, Harry reached for Draco’s cock and stroked it lightly.

That was all it took. Draco started coming, coating both of their stomachs with semen, and Harry cried out as his own orgasm was milked from him through the powerful spasms of Draco’s arse around his cock.

“Yes,” he breathed, still coating Draco’s insides as they both rode out their pleasure. “Draco, yes.”

Their mouths collided in a sensual kiss as they came down from their high, Harry still inside.

“Happy anniversary, Harry,” Draco said when they paused for air.

Harry smiled as he slipped out of Draco and rolled to lie beside him. “We certainly started it off right,” he said. Although in truth, while this was the morning of their actual anniversary, their weekend together had started the night before, after they had dropped Teddy off at Toby Goldstein’s house. They’d had a relaxed dinner, then proceeded to their bedroom for the evening, where they had shagged until they couldn’t move, or speak, or do anything, really.

And yet they still found energy to fuck again in the morning. And it was only Saturday.

“I can’t believe we really have the whole weekend,” Harry said, happiness welling up inside him. It had been well-earned, in his opinion, with everything that had happened in the last few months. And now, with Ron's recent reinjuring of his shoulder, they had even more to worry about. It was a relief to have forty-eight hours to let go of all of it and just be together.

“I said we would. Did you doubt me?” Draco asked. He’d grabbed his wand and was cleaning them off, the charms tickling over Harry’s abdomen.

“No,” Harry replied. “I knew you would do everything in your power… but, you also have mentioned before that your head resident’s a bit of an arse, and I thought he might make things difficult for you.”

“He is absolutely an arse,” said Draco, putting his wand away. “And I could tell he wanted to make me jump through hoops for it. But I’ve got him figured out now. It took me a while, but I know how to play him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, on top of being an arse, he’s also hinted at being a bit of a homophobe. It’s not blatant, you understand, just little things he says. Little comments he makes on our relationship, ‘who wears the trousers,’ questioning my manhood, that sort of thing.”

“And how does that help you? He sounds like a right prick.”

“Because, thanks to his carelessness about what he chooses to say to me, and how he’s evidently held my sexuality against me since he became head resident, I’ve started logging away evidence. He keeps the comments mild, so one alone is not enough, but it’s been long enough now that there’s a pattern. And I’ve… given him the impression, you could say, that if he doesn’t help me out with loosening up my schedule, I might very well report him for harassment and abuse of power.”

Harry thought about that. “So, you’re blackmailing him.”

“’Blackmailing’ is a strong word.”

“What would you call it?” Harry asked, amused.

Draco grinned. “Being smarter and more cunning than he is.”

Harry laughed and shook his head. It was hardly the approach he’d take in that situation himself, but, then again, Draco had always been one who knew how to get what he wanted.

“It’s important I don’t overplay the hand, of course,” Draco went on. “I don’t want to push him too far. But I think I might be able to swing having Christmas Eve _and_ part of Christmas day this year, if I do this right.”

“Yeah?” Harry asked, unable to keep from getting his hopes up. Draco’d had to work over all of the Christmas holiday the year before, leaving them to have a rather less festive celebration on Boxing Day.

Draco nodded. “So it’s possible we could attend Mother's Christmas Eve party and then go to the Burrow in the morning as well.”

Harry smiled widely at him. “That would be… well… I won’t get too excited, since we don’t know yet… but that would be brilliant, if you could manage it.”

“If it’s going to make you keep smiling like that,” Draco replied, “then I’ll be sure to make it happen.”

He rolled on top of Harry, pressing their naked bodies together again, and Harry allowed himself to get lost in languid snogging, lazily nipping and licking at whatever skin of Draco’s he could reach, occasionally finding his mouth again and making love to that tongue with his own.

As if their bed was a boat adrift in a sea of endless time, Harry forgot everything else, and relaxed, and was content to keep floating on.

***

They did eventually get up for breakfast. Or brunch, as it were. Harry offered to cook before Draco reminded him about Pipsy, and how she had insisted he take care of them completely for the weekend.

The elf had integrated herself nicely into the household, and had taken a special liking to Teddy, who did as he had been told and was very sweet to her. Harry still played with Teddy, bathed him, and read to him before bed every night, but had only cooked dinner twice since Pipsy had joined them, and had gotten a relief from cleaning up altogether. Harry found it eased the burden immensely, just knowing there was someone else in the house all the time to provide help.

Pipsy’s presence didn’t stop him from missing Draco, of course, but the man was making a real effort as well. On top of having talked to (and blackmailed, apparently, a little) his head resident about having more reasonable hours, he also made small gestures that showed his efforts to be more thoughtful. On his days off he brought Harry lunch at work (unless it was a Friday, which was still reserved for Hermione), so they could spend extra time together. If he was at the hospital, Draco still sent a Patronus to Teddy every night before bed, telling him how much he loved him and to be good for Harry and Pipsy. And Harry had even caught him investigating one of the lamps in the living room, learning what size light bulb it took and what “wattage” and “voltage” meant.

Harry felt happier, better-rested, and more loved than he had since Teddy had moved in. And this weekend was the icing on the cake.

Pipsy served them raspberry pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausage, and potatoes, and the two wizards ate heartily, having worked up a thorough appetite, all the while discussing what they wanted to get up to next during their weekend together.

“Don’t forget we promised Teddy we’d floo call him at four,” Harry reminded his partner. It was the deal they’d made with Teddy, since it was the first time he’d be away for a whole weekend. Harry was glad, as he found himself wondering how Teddy was getting on at Toby’s house, and if his godson was feeling homesick at all.

Draco downed the remainder of his tea and nodded, and Pipsy appeared swiftly to pour him another cup. “Thank you Pipsy,” he said.

“You is most welcome, Master Draco, sir,” the elf squeaked. “And for you, Master Harry,” she said, turning to him, “is the pancakes to your liking, sir?”

“They’re absolutely perfect,” Harry told her, and she beamed.

“I thought we’d call Teddy and then have dinner here,” Draco said, getting Harry’s attention back. “And then I thought it might be fun to go out.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“Well, when was the last time we went to a club and danced and were ogled by fit gay men who wished they were us?”

Harry grinned. “Not since you started at St. Mungo’s, I don’t think.” They did used to go out quite a bit more, sometimes into wizarding London, but more often to Muggle places where they wouldn’t be recognized, where they could drink and dance and snog in anonymity. Draco always loved this, the chance to show Harry off, and to show off just how mad they were for each other. Harry had learned to enjoy it too, especially once he became a more confident dancer and felt like he could hold his own next to Draco.

“Well, what do you think? You said you wanted to go out more, and it seems like we’ve forgotten recently how young and hot we actually are.”

Harry laughed. “I never forgot how young and hot you are, Draco. But sure, let’s do it.” They could afford a late night out. Teddy wasn’t coming home to them until the afternoon on Sunday. They would have most of the day to recover.

“Excellent. So, what shall we do until then?”

Harry considered that while finishing the last of his tea. He glanced out the window and saw that while the day was probably cool and crisp, it was also clear. He smiled.

“Let’s go flying.”

***

Harry was feeling windswept and carefree as he pulled up on his broom and came to a smooth stop. He looked around for Draco, but it was only a few seconds later that the blond appeared beside him, his cheeks pink from the chilly air and his mouth forming a wide grin.

“What do you think?” he asked Harry, rubbing his hands together to warm them. “Stay out a bit longer, or are you ready to head in?”

They’d been flying most of the afternoon on the Malfoy Manor Quidditch pitch, which was the best and most secluded spot to fly that either of them could think of. They’d started with a few games of Seeker’s Quidditch (in which Harry beat Draco two-to-one) and then practiced some tricks. Harry hadn’t realized how rusty he was.

“I’d like to do one more big dive,” he said. It had always been his favorite move. “And then we can take your mum up on her offer of tea.”

“We don’t have to, you know,” said Draco. “She knows it’s our weekend just us. We aren’t obligated.”

“I know that,” said Harry. “But I actually _like_ your mother, you know. And it’s been a while. A short visit will be nice.”

“All right. Let’s dive first then.”

Harry smirked. “If you can keep up.”

Draco laughed. They weren’t actually very competitive anymore, but Harry still enjoyed dishing out a bit of trash talk on occasion, for old time’s sake. But Draco didn’t seem to be taking the bait. “I always have fun trying,” he said.

Harry launched himself into the air, his trusty old Firebolt still responding beautifully to him. He was well above the ground now, and he paused, looking down, while he waited for Draco to join him. He did, and the two exchanged a look.

“Ready?” Harry asked.

“Ready,” said Draco, his gray eyes bright with joy and the fresh air around them.

Harry reared up and then dove, his broom handle at the steepest angle he could manage. The air whipped around him as he gasped, then laughed, then grinned madly. His stomach felt like it had dropped out of him, and the ground was coming ever closer, but that had never frightened Harry before. This was the part he loved the most.

He leveled out just in time, coming low enough that he could brush a hand along the grass.

 _Perfect_ , he thought, letting his broom slow as he reached the other end of the pitch. Why didn’t he do this anymore? When had he decided that flying was merely frivolous fun, and not something that was an inherent part of him, something he needed?

He heard Draco coming up behind him and he turned to meet him. Draco was shaking his head.

“You’re insane, you know that?” he said, though he was smiling.

Harry shrugged. “It was just a normal dive.”

“Normal for you, maybe. I had forgotten how fast and steep you like to do that. I about had a heart attack.”

Harry laughed in confusion. “You’ve seen me do that a million times.”

“Not since eighthyear, actually. And it nearly killed me every time then, too.”

Harry leaned in to give him a kiss. “Don’t worry. I always come out all right, in the end.”

“In the end, yes,” Draco agreed as he dismounted his broom. “Though it makes me glad I became a Healer, if you’re going to insist on flying like that. At least I’ll be able to mend you.”

“You’ve become very prudent in your old age, haven’t you?” Harry accused.

“I’ve always been sensible,” Draco said airily, making Harry snort. “ _You’ve_ just never been sensible enough to notice.”

They walked back to the manor, brooms over their shoulders, bickering good-naturedly about who had been most sensible in their youth, trying to remember specific examples, and soon discovering that when it came to their time at Hogwarts, they had both been rather reckless and stupid.

As they approached the back of the house they could see Narcissa standing at the open French doors, waiting for them. She embraced them both with equal warmth and welcomed them inside.

“I hope you had a pleasant afternoon on the pitch,” she said as they followed her into the east wing parlor.

“Very much,” said Harry. “I’d actually rather forgotten how much flying relaxes me.”

“It’s a pastime I’ve never much enjoyed,” Narcissa admitted. “I’m not fond of heights. Even watching you two up there made me dizzy.” She eyed Harry. “Do be careful with yourself, at least, won’t you?”

Harry grinned at her. “Of course,” he said.

“Can you stay for tea?” she asked them.

“We can have a cup or two,” said Draco. “We have to be home by four to floo call Teddy. He’ll be waiting for us.”

“Very good. Tizzy!”

An elf appeared with a pop. “You called, Mistress?” she squeaked, bowing low.

“Prepare tea for four, if you would, please.” She looked around suddenly. “At least, I believe Philippe will be joining us. I don’t actually know where he is at the moment.”

“Master Philippe is being in his study working on a project, Mistress,” said the elf. “Shall Tizzy be fetching him?”

“Very good,” said Narcissa. “Yes, thank you.”

“Philippe works on weekends as well?” Draco asked his mother as they settled on lounges in the parlor.

“Sometimes,” she said. “If he gets an idea in his head that he get let go of. Or if he’s trying to work through a problem. He’ll tinker away the whole afternoon if I let him. But he would be sad to miss the two of you, since we don’t have you as often anymore.”

Philippe was an inventor, working on contract with any business that developed and sold their own products. He had a knack for thinking outside the box, much like Fred and George Weasley, actually, though his inventions tended to be more practical and less hilarious.

Narcissa had been involved with the man for over two years already. They had met, interestingly enough, through Aurelian Kemp, Vesper’s uncle, who had been married to Philippe’s sister Chloe. Friends from their days in Slytherin house together, the two men had stayed in touch throughout the years, even after Chloe had passed away from cancer. When Vesper and Aurelian had attended a birthday party for Draco at Malfoy Manor, they had brought Philippe along, and the French-born Slytherin had fallen hard and fast for Draco’s mother. Narcissa, for her part, was taken with his genteel manner and inherent warmth, and after only a few weeks came to love his quirky intellectualism as well.

It was a match that suited them both, though they appeared to be in no hurry to marry. They were perfectly content to flit between England and France and spend their days together in relaxed companionship. Though Philippe had grown up primarily in the UK and had been educated at Hogwarts, his late wife had been French and his children, now grown themselves, still lived not far from the family chateau. Philippe liked to be near them when he could, but also knew that Narcissa felt the same about Draco, Harry, Andromeda, and Teddy. So they split their time between the two countries. It was understood that eventually they would settle in France, leaving Malfoy Manor available for Draco, Harry, and their children to move into if and when they so desired. But no one was in much of a hurry for that either, and so things continued as they had been.

Harry wondered idly, as Tizzy prepared their tea, what it would be like to move into Malfoy Manor permanently. He had certainly gotten quite familiar with it over the years, and any bad memories from the war had been comprehensively replaced by all the good memories that came later, including their first holiday spent here. In fact, when they stayed at the manor Draco and Harry still slept in the bed in which Harry had taken Draco’s virginity almost five years ago.

He could be content with it, he thought. He could get used to it. Especially if Narcissa had moved on and the house was truly Draco and Harry’s completely. He would miss Grimmauld, he knew, but that would pass to Teddy someday, as it should.

Philippe joined them as the tea was being served and Harry put his thoughts aside to greet him.

The man was compact, only a few inches taller than Narcissa, and lean for a man his age. His once sandy hair was now mostly gray. He had strong worry lines on his forehead and laugh lines around his mouth, but his warm brown eyes still shone with a youthful, almost boyish energy.

“Glad you could join us for a little while,” he said. Philippe had no French accent to speak of, most of the time, although Harry thought he could occasionally catch a slight rolling of his R’s when the man had been drinking a bit. Otherwise he sounded like a Brit, through and through. “Narcissa was just commenting to me the other day about how busy things have gotten for you, at the hospital, and now you have Teddy.”

“Our days are full, no doubt about that,” Draco agreed. He took Harry’s hand and squeezed it. “That was why it was so important for us to take some time for ourselves this weekend.”

“Indeed,” said Narcissa.

“Been up to anything interesting?”

Harry and Draco exchanged a look.

“Well, other than flying just now, and the fact that we’re planning on going out tonight,” Harry said, “we’ve mostly just been… you know…” _shagging our brains out._

“Staying in and relaxing,” Draco finished for him, his eyes remaining wide and earnest.

“Indeed,” Narcissa said again, hiding her smile behind her cup of tea.

“I think it’s wonderful that you two still fly together,” said Philippe. “You both played Quidditch, didn’t you, back at Hogwarts?”

“We were both Seekers,” said Harry. “So we played against each other quite a bit.”

“Harry was much better than me, though,” Draco admitted. “So it wasn’t much of a competition.”

Harry gave him a small smile. “You made me work for it pretty hard most of the time.”

“But you always came out on top,” Draco replied, and there was humor glinting in Draco’s gray eyes that made Harry think perhaps he was referring to something else. He fought a blush.

“I was actually wondering when I might be able to get Teddy on a real broom,” Harry said, to steer the subject away from topics they shouldn’t be hinting at with Draco’s mother present. “He has a toy one from when he was a toddler, but he got bored with it quickly. I thought he might find it more interesting if he could go more than a foot off the ground. But five is a little young, I suppose, isn’t it?”

“We got Draco his first real broom at age eight,” said Narcissa.

“That’s not true,” said Draco. “I remember flying with Father on the pitch when I was six. I had a real broom then.”

“You had a training broom,” Narcissa said patiently. “Which is different. You didn’t get the Nimbus 1900 until your eighth birthday.”

“Hm,” said Draco, thinking that over.

“What’s a training broom?” Harry asked.

“It’s the step between a toy broom and a real broom,” said Narcissa. “It behaves much like a regular broom does, except that it limits how high or fast one can go and has some safety charms built in that keep the rider from falling off or crashing. It’s how many young witches and wizards learn to fly.”

“So maybe _that’s_ what we should get Teddy,” said Harry. He looked at Draco. “That would be a good Christmas present, don’t you think? Then the three of us could go flying together.”

Draco squeezed Harry’s knee. “That’s a lovely idea,” he said.

Conversation turned to other things, including Andromeda and how much better she was doing now that her body had adjusted to the treatment, as well as the happy announcement that Philippe’s oldest daughter was pregnant with her first child. Time passed quickly as Harry listened to the lively chatter and enjoyed the feel of Draco’s hand resting on his.

Life, he felt, was just as it should be.

Well, nearly at least. Harry had to admit that while he had enjoyed himself all afternoon, he was looking forward to seeing Teddy again, even just for a few minutes, to make sure he was happy and well.

He had thought he might enjoy having a break from taking care of Teddy for a little while, and part of him did. But Teddy’s temporary absence had left a small void inside him, as though a piece of his heart had left his body and gone wandering off somewhere, and he would only feel truly content again when he had it back in his sights.

It was a strange, unexpected feeling, but he thought he might know what it was.

_This is what fatherhood feels like, isn’t it?_

***

They didn’t get to talk to Teddy for long. When they floo called in the boys were outside playing, and it was Toby’s mother Clarissa who answered. She went to fetch them, and both Teddy and Toby sat down in front of the fire and immediately launched into tales of all the things they’d done together so far. Toby was a very creative kid and loved to make up stories, which Teddy loved to act out with him and help him embellish as they went. It probably helped that Teddy’s metamorphmagus abilities were getting better every day and he could change his appearance at will to play pretend as any number of characters.

But it was soon time for them to have a snack, and they wanted to get back to playing, so Draco and Harry let Teddy go and have his fun.

“See you tomorrow, Ted,” Harry said to him, that small void opening up in him again. The ache it left had eased somewhat when he laid eyes on his godson. But the relief wasn’t going to last long, apparently. “We love you.”

“Bye, love you too!” said Teddy, before running off to follow Toby into the kitchen.

Clarissa stayed a moment longer to bid Harry and Draco goodbye and to confirm that she would drop Teddy off at Grimmauld around three in the afternoon the next day, and then the floo connection was cut and the two men returned to their sitting room at home.

“Well, he looked happy,” said Harry, brushing soot off his shirt as he spoke.

“Yes, he did.”

“I’m glad. I was a bit worried he wouldn’t like being away for so long.”

“I know.” Draco was smiling at him, warm and affectionate, though also amused.

“What?” asked Harry.

“You miss him.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but realized that there was no point denying it. “A little, yes,” he said. “But I do like being here with you, just us.” He put his hands on Draco’s waist. “I really needed this. And even if it meant a little time missing Teddy, it was worth it to me.”

“Me too,” Draco murmured, and their lips connected softly.

Harry assumed it was going to be a quick kiss, but then Draco’s mouth lingered, and Harry drew Draco closer, deepening their contact. Draco let out a soft moan, his tongue flicking out to taste Harry’s lips, and Harry opened his mouth to welcome him inside. When Harry’s hands descended lower and grabbed ahold of Draco’s arse, the blond let out a soft chuckle, pulling away slightly.

Harry didn’t let him get far, dipping to suckle on his neck and slide his tongue along Draco’s chiseled jaw. “Think we can manage round three before dinner?” he asked, already feeling a hardening bulge in both of their trousers.

“It would be round four for the weekend, wouldn’t it?” Draco replied.

Harry pulled back to look at him. “But who’s counting?” he said with a grin, then put his lips on Draco’s once again.

The kiss was more impassioned this time, and Harry began to steer them towards the sofa. Draco tugged at Harry’s shirt, and Harry lifted his arms, eager to feel Draco’s hands on his bare skin.

“What shall I do to you first?” he asked against Draco’s lips as his hands descended to Harry’s belt.

“First?” Draco echoed, his voice husky. “First you’re going to come in my mouth. That’s what.” His hand cupped the erection that was still confined in Harry’s underwear, and he smirked at Harry’s deep groan, looking into his eyes. “After that, who knows?”

Harry grinned and pulled him into another kiss. That sounded like a quite a good start to their evening.

***

“You here alone?”

Harry turned towards the sound of the voice and found a pair of dark eyes looking at him. The man had leaned in close to be heard over the thumping bass of the music and the voices of the other patrons.

“Sorry, what?” Harry asked, though he had heard the question perfectly. But he liked to make a person work a little sometimes, especially if they were going to begin with such an overused line.

“I asked if you were alone,” the man said.

“At the moment, it appears I am,” Harry said with a secret smile. _But not for long._ Draco had only stepped away to the bathroom, and would be coming back any moment. In fact, there was a chance that he had already returned, and was simply keeping his distance to see how things unfolded with Harry at the bar.

“Well not anymore,” the man replied smoothly. “Now I’m here.”

 _Ugh._ That almost ruined the game, a cheesy line like that. Did that ever actually work for him, Harry wondered.

“What are you drinking?” the man asked.

“Bell’s,” Harry replied, taking another sip.

“A Scotch man, eh?” the guy replied, giving Harry a lopsided smile. “That’s hot.”

“I know,” Harry said, which made the man laugh.

“I’m Sam.”

“Harry.”

“Harry,” Sam repeated. “You have the most amazing eyes I have ever seen. Can I buy you a drink?”

“You’re certainly welcome to,” said Harry, “but it won’t get you anywhere.”

The man’s wide smile drooped slightly. “Why not?”

“Well, to be honest, your game could use a little work,” said Harry. “But mostly because I’m waiting for my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend?”

“That’s right.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying.”

“I’m really not,” Harry said.

“You said you were here alone.”

“No, actually,” Harry said lightly. “I said that at the moment it _appeared_ that I was. Which is not the same thing.”

Sam paused, seeming to try to work that out. Harry felt an arm wrap around his shoulder.

“There you are, love,” said a familiar voice, and Harry smiled, looking up at Draco. He turned back to Sam.

“It appears I’m not alone anymore,” he said.

Sam looked Draco up and down, then merely sighed in resignation. Understandably. If Harry was looking hot that night, Draco was looking about ten times hotter. His clothes were tight, his hair was expertly mussed, and he’d even put a bit of kohl under his eyes, making him look smoldering and slightly dangerous. Harry’s cock had been twitching a little all evening, every time he looked at the blond in his clubbing getup, and that was even after multiple orgasms that day.

There really was no competition, and Sam knew it.

Which, in truth, was the reason Draco liked playing this game in the first place. And since Draco liked it, Harry played along.

“Dance with me,” Draco said in Harry’s ear.

Harry smiled, finished his drink, and nodded a goodbye to Sam, who was watching them impassively. Then he hopped off his stool and let himself be led to the dance floor, Draco’s warm hand encasing his.

They wound their way through the sea of other bodies, the music humming through Harry’s bones with each heavy beat. Draco found a spot and immediately pulled Harry close.

“So, what was his approach?” Draco asked as he pressed their bodies together and started to move.

Harry laughed. “Not good,” he said in Draco's ear. “He asked if I was alone and then told me I had the most amazing eyes he’s ever seen. Then he offered to buy me a drink.”

“Not very creative,” Draco agreed. He stared into Harry’s eyes. “But at least he’s honest.”

“Maybe,” said Harry. “But he’s not you, and that’s all that matters.”

Draco kissed him sensually, his tongue delving in to taste the remnants of whiskey lingering in Harry’s mouth.

“Do you know how intoxicating it is, watching them want what I have?” he asked Harry.

“Not firsthand,” Harry replied. Personally, he didn’t much like it when the shoe was on the other foot. And when they were out in the Muggle world, Draco got hit on and ogled quite a bit. It was only back in the wizarding world that Harry got more attention. He certainly didn’t mind sharing the attention with Draco; in fact, he preferred it to what he usually had to deal with. But neither did he get the same kick Draco did out of watching people trying to pick up his boyfriend. It only made Harry’s possessive streak rear its head.

A reaction Draco _also_ rather enjoyed, come to think of it.

“What game shall we play next?” Draco asked him. “The one where I dance while men try to paw me and you intervene? Or the one where we pretend not to speak English and see if we can still get someone to invite us for a threesome?”

Harry laughed against Draco’s throat. “How about the one where we’re so madly in love that no one in the world exists but us? I like that one.”

Draco searched his face. “Done,” he said, then grinned. “So that means we just keep dancing.”

“Yes,” said Harry, pressing against Draco even more.

And so they danced.

***

Everything was fuzzy when Harry awoke the next morning: his head, his mouth, his ears. He opened his eyes, but the light made his brain throb. He groaned.

He heard a chuckle beside him turned towards the sound, still keeping his eyes shut.

“Draco?”

“I’m here,” he said. Harry felt a hand on his cheek. “Hung over?”

Harry groaned again.

“Thought so.” Draco’s voice still sounded amused “You were pretty far gone by the time we got home last night.”

Harry thought back to what he remembered last. It did start to become a bit of a blur. He and Draco danced for quite some time, then went back to the bar for more drinks. They chatted up another gay couple for a while, and they started buying each other rounds and… Harry didn’t remember much after that. He was pretty sure there was more dancing. And he remembered Draco snogging him quite enthusiastically, and thinking that Draco was pretty drunk as well.

“So were you,” he argued now. “You drank at least as much as me.” And neither of them did a whole lot of drinking in their normal life, so it hadn’t taken much.

“That’s true,” Draco agreed.

“So why aren’t you miserable?”

He heard Draco chuckle again. “Because my headache woke me up at six and I decided to go ahead and take a hangover potion.”

“Clever,” said Harry.

“Here.” Harry felt Draco place a vial in his hand. “Drink up.”

The thought of consuming anything was unpleasant, especially when he sat up in bed and he was overcome with a bad bout of dizziness for a minute or two. But he made himself unstop the vial and swallow down the fizzy white liquid inside.

He sighed in relief as he felt the light and refreshing taste of citrus hit his tongue. His headache was already starting to clear, and as soon as the potion hit his stomach his nausea was gone too. He opened his eyes. Draco was smiling at him.

“Better?”

“Much.” Harry ran a hand through his messy hair. “Remind me not to drink like that again. I always end up being sorry I did.”

Draco arched a brow. “Doesn’t everyone?”

“I hope we didn’t get up to anything stupid or illegal in our state.”

“Nah,” said Draco. “We were well-behaved. At least, I think we were.”

“How would we know?”

Draco smirked. “I suppose we wouldn’t. All I know is, I didn’t snog anyone but you. I remember because there was that one bloke who groped and tried to kiss me and I shoved him off because I knew he wasn’t you.”

“I don’t remember that!” said Harry, aghast.

Draco shrugged. “You might have been talking to Rob and Conner.”

“Who are…? Oh, right.” That was the other couple they had got to talking to. “I wished I’d seen it happen. I would have hexed his bollocks off.”

“Good thing you didn’t then,” said Draco. “I think you would have gotten into a fair bit of trouble violating the Statute of Secrecy while drunk at a gay club.” He tilted his head again. “Then again, you _are_ Harry Potter, so you can get away with just about anything.”

Harry scowled. “It would have been better if there were no men groping you in the first place.”

“I agree. But that’s the risk you run sometimes.”

Harry considered that. Maybe he was just getting old, but he didn’t think he wanted to go out clubbing again for a long time. It took too much out of him. “Going out is fun,” he said. “But I think I like just being home with you better.”

Draco’s smile softened. “Me too,” he said. “But we’ve got it out of our system for a while now, so we can go back to being boring, responsible parents, right?”

“I don’t know about _boring_ ,” said Harry. “After all, the main reason I like having you home with me is that I can bugger your arse as much as I please. That’s hardly boring, now is it?”

Draco laughed. “No, I suppose not.”

“You _suppose_?”

Draco laughed again, but this time it was darker and huskier. He loomed over Harry, one hand caressing his naked abdomen. “Maybe I just need you to remind me how _not_ boring it is.”

Harry licked his lip. “A last hurrah before Teddy comes home?”

“Only if you’re up for it,” Draco said. “I’ve already made you work quite a bit this weekend, haven’t I?’

“Only one way to find out how up for it I am,” he said, looking at Draco like he was issuing him a challenge. “Touch me.”

Draco bit his lip, the amusement in his expression falling away. “With pleasure. Sir.”

***

Harry was a satisfied, happy man by the time Clarissa Goldstein arrived to bring Teddy home. The last two days had been exactly what he needed, and he felt like he could go back to work, back to parenting, back to everything else, rejuvenated.

 _I can’t let myself get so stressed and tired again._ It wasn’t good for him or anyone else around him. He was learning that he needed outlets for his stress and to take time for himself. He was definitely going to do more flying, he decided. And take Draco up on his offer to take care of Teddy so Harry could spend time with Ron and Hermione once in a while, or maybe Molly and Arthur, or George, or Andromeda, or the many other people he missed spending time with. He deserved a break every now and then. He was finally learning that.

For the moment, though, he was just happy to have Teddy back. The boy was pretty worn out from his weekend of fun, and was content to quietly do a puzzle in the sitting room with Harry and Draco while Pipsy prepared dinner. By the time he was fed and bathed, he was yawning and rubbing his eyes, a clear sign that he was ready for bed.

“We can skip reading tonight, if you want,” said Harry.

Teddy shook his head. “I missed my books,” he said. “I want to read _at least_ two.”

Harry chuckled. “All right. But say goodbye to Draco first. He has to go to work.”

Draco was about to begin a sixty-hour shift at St. Mungo’s, a long one to make up for the fact that he’d taken the entire weekend off. Harry felt a surge of gratitude towards him. He’d made their anniversary an amazing one, and now he was returning to a grueling job without complaint.

After Draco kissed Teddy and told him when he would next be home, Harry walked him out into the hallway. He put his arms around Draco’s waist and drew him into a heartfelt kiss, one that had Draco humming in appreciation.

“This weekend was perfect,” Harry told him when he pulled away. “Thank you.”

“There’s no need to thank me, Harry,” Draco said. “You deserve someone who will make time for you. So that’s what I plan to keep doing.” He gave Harry another kiss. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And I'm always going to thank you for being wonderful, you know.”

When Draco was gone, Harry returned to Teddy’s room. The boy was looking over his bookshelf, deciding which books he wanted to read. Harry sat down on Teddy’s bed and watched him with warmth pooling in his chest.

“Find what you’re looking for?” he asked Teddy finally.

“I don’t know,” his godson replied. “I want to read them all.”

Harry suppressed another chuckle. “Come here a moment.” He opened his arms.

Teddy looked at him for a second, then made his way over. Harry scooped him into his lap and held him close.

“I’m glad you’re home, Ted,” he said. “I missed you.”

Teddy nuzzled into his collarbone but replied, “I was only gone two days. And you said you were going to have fun with Draco, just you and him.”

“I know,” Harry said with a soft laugh. Trust Teddy to quote his words almost exactly from when he explained why Teddy was going to be staying the weekend with his friend. “And I did have fun with Draco. But I missed you anyway.”

“I had fun with Toby,” said Teddy with a sigh. “But I missed you too.”

Harry kissed the top of his head. “There’s no one in the world who means what you mean to me, you know. And there never will be.”

Teddy didn’t say anything, only tightened his grip in Harry’s shirt. There was a good chance he didn’t really understand what Harry meant. But that was all right. He would someday.

“Shall we read, then?” he asked Teddy after a few minutes.

He felt Teddy nod against him before the boy pulled away. “Yeah. But you can pick. I can’t decide.”

Harry kissed his godson on the head once more. “Ok, Teddy. Whatever makes you happy.”


	21. The Co-Dependent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another cycle begins. We're starting with an update on Hermione this chapter. In the next couple of weeks we'll have a good chunk of Drarry before checking in with Vesper again :)
> 
> Thanks SO MUCH, as always, to those who left comments. For this story and for my other fics. Even when I can't get to replying right away, know that every comment I get is a big boost to my energy and I appreciate each one. I am going to try really hard to get to all the responses I can this week!
> 
> Sending you love and hugs as always <3

(Hermione)

The soap glided across Ron’s skin, up his good arm to the shoulder, then down across his chest, catching in the light curls there and frothing up. While Hermione coated him with the bar in one hand she scrubbed him in small circles with the other, making sure the suds covered every inch. She could feel Ron watching her with hooded eyes. Whether he was staring at her face or enjoying the view of her bare breasts just below the surface of the water, she didn’t know, nor did she particularly care. She was savoring her current task too much.

The only way Ron would ever allow her to help him bathe was if she climbed into the bath with him. She understood why. He wanted it to feel like something pleasurable, something they would do together anyway, whether he was injured or not. Otherwise he felt like a patient being cared for by a nursemaid, and there were few things he hated more than _that_ idea.

Hermione was happy to oblige him. When he decided he needed a wash she would throw her hair into a topknot and shed her clothing before helping him out of his and removing the sling on his arm. Then they would climb in together, being careful to support the injured arm until he was well-settled in the bath and could hug it unmoving against his stomach. Then she would wash him, with his help, and wash herself, and, sometimes, do other things to enjoy their nakedness. Though they had to be very careful with that. Hermione had to do most of the work.

Not that she minded.

“Time for the other arm,” she said softly. “Are you ready?”

Ron nodded, and she handed the soap off to him. Then she very carefully lifted the arm, supporting it with her hands, while Ron ran the soap lightly over it, taking special care around the shoulder and the jagged, puffy scar there. She saw him wince, and winced herself, knowing the twinge must have been painful if he had let it register on his face.

“How’s the soreness tonight?” she asked him.

“About the same,” he said, handing the soap back to her.

He was subdued, and had been since she’d come home from work. This particular mood of his, she'd found, had a back and a front. Subdued was better than frustrated and restless, which he could definitely be sometimes if he had been stuck in the house all day with nothing to do but read, watch telly, or converse with the Mediwizard the Corps was paying to tend to his needs while Hermione was at work. His fellow Aurors sometimes sent cases along for him to look over, and that was about the only thing that could keep him sane. When there _weren’t_ any cases to work on, Ron could get quite snappy and difficult to care for. He would always apologize afterward, when he’d gotten control of himself again. But it was certainly easier when he was willing to accept help the first time around.

On the other hand, it bothered her to see him this way. The Ron she knew and loved was gregarious and lively or, if something had upset him, passionate and outspoken. Ron could be quiet too, of course. Measured, calm, at peace. But this kind of quiet was different, and it disturbed her. There was a cloudy dullness in his blue eyes that she’d only seen once before, during the first time his arm was injured and he’d teetered on the edge of depression, waiting for his circumstances, his arm, to get better.

It didn’t frighten her. Ron was resilient, and his arm would heal, and he would come out of this intact again. But it made her sad. She didn’t know how to help him.

“My turn,” she said, holding her hand out for the soap so she could wash herself.

“No,” he said, his gaze, his smile, his voice as soft as the soapy water around them. “Let me.”

Hermione smiled too and scooted closer so he could reach her easily. She was practically straddling him now, her thighs wrapped around his.

“Go ahead,” she said.

He started with her collarbone, letting the tip of the soap glide along the hard ridge before dipping into the base of her neck and passing to the other side. Then he went underneath, to the tops of her breasts, and Hermione straightened her back so more of her was out of the water and within reach. He glided around her left breast and then skimmed the nipple, and Hermione bit her lip. As he moved to the other she started lathering up the soap herself, since Ron was only one-handed, enjoying the way her hands slid along her wet skin. She closed her eyes, relaxing into it.

Ron reached around her back, pulling her closer as he washed her shoulder blades. Hermione opened her eyes to find their faces were only inches apart, and Ron’s eyes had sparked to life as he touched her.

“You are so fucking beautiful,” he said.

She put a hand on either side of his face and felt the steamy moisture cling to his auburn stubble. She rubbed her thumbs across his cheeks.

“So are you.”

She tilted forward until their foreheads rested against each other, then came closer, lightly nuzzling her nose with his. The heat of the bath rose to mix with their shared breath, and she closed the final distance, capturing his mouth in hers, reminding him of all that was still good, and pure, and lovely in this world.

***

Whenever Hermione went to work at the DTF these days she felt pieces of her still tugged in different directions: one towards home, where Ron was waiting (and bored), one towards the hospital and her parents, and one towards the Gaffman Research Library in Diagon Alley, a little-visited gem she had discovered after Flourish and Blott’s failed to provide her with sufficient texts on wandless magical theory. There was so much going on outside of her job at the moment that she found it hard to focus at work when she was there. She was grateful to the other members of her legal team for being able to stay on top of things and for giving her space to be a bit discombobulated, given Ron’s reinjury.

It was hard for her to care, really, about the DTF’s current cases. The one that took up most of her time was still the vampire case, and she’d been skeptical about that one from the beginning. Reading and dissecting testimonials from various vampires about the ways they had been persecuted didn’t exactly get the blood pumping in her veins. Not like the research on Guensler’s description of his accidental magic, which she took time to delve into after she left the office a few times a week at the library.

So when Harry brought her lunch on Friday as per their usual routine, she welcomed the distraction. As soon as he walked in she was struck by how cheerful he looked. He placed her salad and soup in front of her with particular gusto and sat down across from her, smiling all the while.

“You’re in a good mood,” she said, smiling a bit herself. Harry’s energy was infectious. “I take it the anniversary weekend went well?” It must have gone _quite_ well, actually, if it was carrying Harry through the entire week in this mood.

“Have I really not seen you since then?” he asked as he unwrapped his sandwich. “I suppose I haven’t.”

“It’s been a busy time.”

Harry nodded, his expression sobering a few degrees. “How’s Ron?”

“Well ready to lose his mind, honestly,” said Hermione.

“Well, he’s never liked being cooped up.”

“Yes, there’s that. And he just can’t… _do_ much of anything. He can work some, he’s still inhibited by the arm.”

“When can he take the sling off?

“He has a treatment next week at the hospital, and they’re going to determine if he can take it off then. If not, it’s another two weeks with it until his next appointment.”

“Bloody hell.”

“I know. And then, even when it comes off, he’s not really supposed to use the arm much. Not for a while yet.”

Harry took a bite of his sandwich and nodded. “I hope he’s being kind to you, at least,” he said finally. “I know he can get rather… moody.”

“He’s definitely moody,” Hermione said. “And frustrated. But he’s not taking it out on me or anything.”

“Good.”

“I just hate seeing him like this. I feel helpless.”

“I know.” Harry leaned forward to give her hand a light rub. “You know, with Pipsy in the house now I can come over sometimes in the evenings to help out, if you like.”

Hermione gave him a grateful smile. “I can’t ask you to do that, Harry. Goodness knows you have enough going on.”

“We all do,” Harry argued. “Life has really been raining it down on us lately. How else do we get through it but by being there for each other?”

“Good point,” Hermione said. “I’m sure Ron would love to see you. Even if you just came over every now and then, gave him something to focus on other than his arm and the long recovery, I’m sure that would make a difference.”

“Good then. I’ll talk to Draco about his schedule and find a night next week.”

Hermione’s heart swelled in appreciation for her friend, but she gave him a wry smile. “Well, five minutes of lunch with me and I really bring down the mood, don’t I?” she half joked.

“Nah, don’t worry about it.”

“So what _has_ gotten you in such a good mood? Was it the weekend?”

Harry fought a grin. “Partially. There’s no doubt that was a success. But things have also just been… better the past few weeks. I’m finally sleeping properly, and I don’t feel so anxious about getting everything done and taking care of Teddy on top of that. Plus, Teddy and I went to go see Andromeda yesterday, and it went really well.”

“Really?” Hermione beamed. That was quite good news. “Tell me.”

She listened happily as Harry described what the three of them got up to together and how sweet Teddy was with his grandmother. Andromeda had enough energy now to really play with the boy like she used to, and the two of them had gotten up to all sorts of things while Harry looked on contentedly and let them have their fun.

“So the treatment’s really working, then.”

“It seems to be,” said Harry. “About as best as it can. It isn’t a cure, but Healer Kipling told us last week that, based on her response to the treatment so far, we could be looking at two really good years with her, before we start to see any decline.” He leaned back in his chair. “It’s not ideal, obviously. The ideal would be if she weren’t sick at all. But this is something.”

“It’s really good news, Harry,” Hermione said, meaning it. “Every month, every day, every _minute_ , counts, right?”

“That’s true.”

They were silent for a minute as they ate. Hermione watched Harry sip on his butterbeer, looking relaxed. There had been something she had been meaning to talk to him about, some information she wanted to glean from him. Now seemed as good a time as any.

“Can I ask you something, Harry? It’s sort of out of the blue, but…”

“Sure, go ahead.”

“Do you remember the kind of accidental magic you used to do as a child?” Hermione had been curious about this with Harry especially. He was the only person she knew who’d had the kind of childhood he’d had, one where he wasn’t just doing magic accidentally because he was throwing a tantrum or to avoid falling and skinning a knee, or the other things every magical child experienced. He had to do magic to survive, in some cases, or at least to protect himself. She wondered if he had some insight that could help her.

Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise, then paused to think. “I remember a fair bit of it, yeah.”

“What sort of things did you do?”

“Well, I regrew all of my hair overnight once. My aunt had cut nearly all of it off, everything except for the fringe, and I didn’t want to go to school looking ridiculous.”

Hermione nodded. That didn’t sound all that unusual. “Sure, what else?”

“I leapt onto the roof of my school while my cousin and his gang were chasing me. Or… I don’t know if I leapt, exactly. I don’t really remember how I got up there. I suppose it’s possible I Apparated.”

“Hm,” said Hermione, thinking that over. From what she had read, that was pretty rare, children Apparating. But it still wasn’t exactly what she was looking for. “Do you think you ever… used a shield, without meaning to?”

“You mean, like a shield charm?”

“Or something like it?”

Harry considered. “I don’t know.” He closed his eyes. “There was once… I’m trying to remember… My uncle used to throw things at me sometimes, you see, if he thought I was in the way. Or really just whenever he felt like it.”

Hermione felt her jaw clench. It was always upsetting to hear about Harry’s childhood. It made her incredibly angry, even when Harry himself was now able to talk about it with complete detachment. The kind of angry that made her want to get up and _do_ something about the injustice her friend had suffered. Yet she also knew that anger was far from helpful, so she merely sat and remained silent while he searched his memory.

“He threw something fragile… a figurine perhaps? Porcelain or glass or something. I was small, maybe only six or seven, and I remember ducking my head and throwing up my arms, but then… nothing hit me. I opened my eyes and there was the figurine, in a bunch of pieces on the floor. Like it had shattered without hitting me. I didn’t think much about it at the time. I remember my aunt and uncle both being furious and making me clean it up. They blamed me for breaking it. So maybe it _was_ a shield I put up, and I just didn’t know it?”

“That’s very possible,” said Hermione, shoving the less pleasant details of that story to the back of her mind. Harry wouldn’t want her harping on them either. “In fact, I would say it’s likely. Unless it wasn’t a shield. Unless it was more like your magic was a weapon you sent out to break the thing before it hit you.”

Harry frowned. “Is there a difference?”

“Well, the shield would just be a barrier, right? That’s how shield charms work.”

“Sure. In simplest terms.”

“So it would have been just like a wall. Throw something fragile at a wall and it will break, right? But if you sent magic outward, like in a burst…”

“I don’t think that’s what happened.”

“No?”

Harry shook his head. “I think I would have felt it, and I don’t remember feeling much of anything when it happened. Nothing like that, certainly. Although, granted, it _was_ a long time ago.”

“Sure. But if it was an outburst of magic, other things in the house might have been damaged as well. Lights, or a maybe a window?”

Harry shook his head more vehemently. “Definitely not. I undoubtedly would have had to clean up that as well, and the figurine was the only thing. I’m sure of it.”

“Hm.”

“Why are you asking me this, anyway?”

“It’s just some research I’m doing.”

“For a case?”

Hermione made a vague noise of assent, not wanting to actually have to lie. “I’m just trying to figure out if a shield created accidentally in order to protect oneself can cause damage to the surrounding environment. I’ve been reading up on it, but nothing I’ve read has given me any indication that it can.”

“But isn’t accidental magic kind of… you know, hard to control, by its very nature?” Harry asked. “Someone might create something _like_ a shield, but it wouldn’t be the same as a shield charm. Accidental and wandless magic is harder to control. That’s why we use wands in the first place.”

“True,” said Hermione. “But it seems to me like accidental magic is usually… practical. It comes out of necessity, and it accomplishes what it needs to accomplish to help or protect the caster of the magic. The nature of the magic is dictated by what it’s needed for. You needed to get away from your cousin, so you Apparated onto the roof. You didn’t _mean_ to, but the magic did what you needed it to do. Same thing with growing back your hair, or casting the shield. Right?”

“Yeah, but you’re forgetting that I also blew up my Aunt Marge once when she made me really angry. And I used to shatter and break things with my magic if I got upset. That wasn’t out of necessity. That was just… I don’t know… energy coming out of me, I guess.”

“Hm, fair point,” Hermione conceded. “Though you _were_ still young then. A child or adolescent’s magic is always more volatile. Adults have more control.”

“That’s true. I’ve hardly done any accidental magic in years, and even then it was just small things. I haven’t broken anything out of anger since the war.”

Hermione nodded. That lined up with how she understood accidental magic and what she had learned in her research. At same time though, the Reversal Squad existed for a reason, so obviously adult witches and wizards did occasionally perform magic that required damage control.

She didn’t know what to think, in truth. But she was determined to keep trying.

***

_None of this makes any sense._

Hermione closed the book she’d been reading and rubbed a hand over her eyes. She was hitting dead ends everywhere she turned, and was already getting close to exhausting the small reserve of books on wandless and accidental magic that the Gaffman Library had to offer.

On the one hand, Guensler’s description of his magic didn’t line up with what any magical theorists seemed to understand about shields and other protection magic. Other than the fact that the energy had been white, the behavior, feel, and sound of Guensler’s outburst had been nothing like a shield at all.

On the other hand, it was stated in almost every text that, when it came to the magical core reacting to dangerous stimuli and utilizing accidental magic, there really were no limitations. What Guensler sent out in his moment of panic when his cauldron exploded may not have been the most practical form in which to use his magic, but it was perfectly within the realm of possibility.

And she had no reason to believe he was lying. His description was specific enough that she believed him sincere, and it lined up with the kind of damage that had been done to the neighborhood and to her parents.

The biggest issue was that she couldn’t find magic that quite matched his description. As she methodically explored each category of magic, she always found one or two common elements but nothing that incorporated _every_ component of what Guensler had described.

 _The research is incomplete, that’s what it comes down to,_ she thought with frustration. Wandlore had always been the thing that got more attention, because it was more elegant and easier to understand. Wandless magic was primal, artless, and imprecise, and few had taken the time to try and understand it.

Hermione thought about Olive Hopkins, her temporary alter-ego, and her "job" as a Reversal Squad researcher. It was all a fabrication, of course. No such job existed, but it should. Someone _should_ be following up with all accidental magic cases and learning all they could about wandless and accidental magic.

Her heavy sigh resounded an echo in the empty library. She wasn’t going to get any more done on this tonight. It was time to go.

***

When Hermione returned home, it was to find Ron sitting on the sofa, eating an apple with a dour expression on his face.

“Everything all right, love?” she asked him when he didn’t immediately look at her.

He turned his head, and she was surprised to find his expression twist into a sheepish grimace.

“Have a look in the kitchen and see for yourself,” he said.

Confused but curious, Hermione made her way into the kitchen. Everything looked normal until she came around the island and found that there was soup all over the floor and shards of a broken bowl scattered around.

“I didn’t think I could risk cleaning it up,” Ron said behind her, and she turned to look at him, “considering it was my magic that caused it in the first place.”

“What happened?” Hermione asked gently.

“I was hungry,” Ron said, shrugging his good shoulder. “There was leftover soup in the fridge. I thought it would be simple to take it out and warm some up with a charm. It _should_ have been simple. But between trying to do things one handed and the fact that my magic hasn’t settled yet… well, as you can see, I made a complete mess of it.” He bowed his head. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to be sorry, love,” Hermione assured him as she nonverbally cast a _reparo_ on the bowl and vanished the remaining mess onthe floor. “It was an accident.”

“It’s my stupid magic. I can’t even do the most basic things.”

“The Healers said it would be hard to manage for a while. It’s completely normal.”

“It’s worse this time.”

“The Healers said that might be true as well,” Hermione said mildly. “But it will get better. Even after this next treatment, when they siphon off some of the harmful magic. It will help.”

“I know,” he said, but he was staring at the floor, his jaw tight.

“I know it’s frustrating,” Hermione said. “I can’t even imagine. But it’s just for a little while. And now we know that we should have you hold off on magic until your next appointment. We’ll make sure that August prepares food for your dinner before he leaves. Even if you’re not ready to eat he can put it under a warming charm.” August was the Mediwizard who came every day to help Ron at home. He came in at nine and left at five, the hours the Corps was obligated to pay him for. Any longer than that and Ron and Hermione would have to pay for the extended hours themselves, and it wasn’t something they were prepared to do at the moment. Though looking at this, Hermione was considering finding some way to make that work.

“I just hate depending on someone else for everything,” Ron said.

“I know.” Hermione put the bowl in the sink and then glanced at the clock. It was almost eight. She’d researched longer than she thought. “I should have been here,” she said softly, almost to herself. “I should have just come home at five.”

“No,” said Ron. “It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right,” Hermione argued, turning back to him. “You were here all alone for almost three hours. If course you’d be hungry. Of course you’d need-“

“We decided when we moved in together that we were going to make our careers a priority,” Ron pointed out to her. “Family and friends matter, but we wanted to do work that required long hours and working late. We agreed. You should be able to stay at work as long as you like.”

“These are special circumstances, Ron. You need me, and I’ve just been…” _wasting my time on useless research._ “There’s no reason I can’t get home a little after five for the next little while. At least until your magic has settled.”

He looked at her carefully. “I wouldn’t blame you, you know, if you didn’t want to. I’m sure working on cases is more fun than being home with me right now.”

She crossed the room and met his eyes with a fierceness that had him raising his eyebrows. “There is nowhere in the world I would rather be than here with you Ronald Weasley. No matter what kind of mood you’re in. Don’t ever doubt that.”

He smiled and cupped her cheek, and Hermione let her gaze soften.

“You are some kind of saint, you know that?”

Hermione shook her head. “Hardly. I just love you more than anything in the world. And I will be here whenever I can, at least until your magic gets back to normal.” She placed a hand on his forearm and squeezed. “I want to,” she insisted.

Ron’s shoulders sagged, and Hermione realized just how much tension he had been carrying in them with that simple gesture. _This is the right thing_ , she decided. _I’m making the right choice._

“I’m starved,” she said. “Why don’t I whip us up something to eat?”

Ron smiled. “Thank you, love. That would be great.”


	22. Take It to Heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Sunday everyone! We're heading into some of my favorite Drarry material for this fic. I hope you enjoy it! As always, your thoughts and feedback on the last chapter were wonderful to read. I love and appreciate you all so much <33

(Draco)

Draco’s brain was floating in a state of bliss, in that sweet otherworld between sleeping and waking, and he didn’t want to leave it.

Something, though, was poking around the edges, trying to penetrate, and he couldn’t figure out what it was.

“Harry! Draco!”

Someone groaned next to him. Harry.

“Time to get up!”

The bed bounced, jostling Draco further into the land of the waking.

“Come on! Time for breakfast!”

“All right, Teddy,” he heard Harry say in a scratchy voice. “Just a minute.”

“You always say that,” Teddy replied, wedging his little body between them on the bed.

“That’s because grown-ups sometimes need a few minutes to wake up, Teddy,” Harry grumbled. “So you need to be patient.”

Teddy heaved a sigh and Draco grinned into his pillow. He rolled over, blinking until he could fully make out Teddy’s bright face.

“Go and put your school clothes on,” he told the boy. “And we’ll all have breakfast together.”

“Yeah, ok!” the boy said, sounding enthused. He scrambled off the bed and out of the room, and Draco and Harry were alone once more.

“You don’t have to get up, you know,” Harry told him, sitting up and stretching his arms over his head. “I can handle breakfast. I have to be up for work anyway.”

“Teddy’s happy when we’re all together,” Draco argued. Harry regularly showed his appreciation for the way Draco was making more of an effort around the house, but he still had a tendency to try to handle things himself if Draco let him. He was learning he had to be pushy sometimes, to get Harry to accept support. “And I should get up anyway. I have a full day ahead of me.”

“Yeah?”

Draco nodded. “I’ve got some research and reading to do, and I want it all to be done before I pick up Teddy from school. That way I’ll have the whole afternoon and evening to spend with him.” He yawned, finally making himself sit up.

“You’re sure it’s all right that I’m going to Ron and Hermione’s tonight? I don’t-“

“Harry,” Draco cut him off, pausing mid-stretch. “Please, for the love of all that is magical in this world, stop feeling guilty for taking a few hours to spend time with your friends. It will be fine. Pipsy will make us dinner, and we’ll play and have fun, and I’ll give him his bath and do the whole routine. And he will be happy, and I will be happy, and you will be happy. End of story.”

“We’ll all be happy.”

“Yes, we will.”

“Well, all right then.”

By the time they made their way downstairs, Teddy was already there, digging into the bacon, eggs, and toast that Pipsy had whipped up for the family.

“Not even going to wait for us, Ted?” Harry teased, kissing the boy on the head.

“I was hungry,” Teddy said.

“Master Teddy is a growing boy,” Pipsy said, scooping more bacon onto Teddy’s plate. “He is always being good about eating his breakfasts. Just like Master Draco when he was being small.”

“Tell me another story about when Draco was small, Pipsy,” Teddy said. This was one of his new favorite things, ever since he’d found out that Pipsy had been serving the Malfoys from the time that Draco was born. “Please?”

“Here we go,” Draco said under his breath, taking a sip of tea. He didn’t particularly like hearing these stories. He knew he’d been more than a little bratty, especially when he got older and closer to Hogwarts age.

This particular story involved him getting into his father’s pantry of potion ingredients and trying to brew a potion that would make him able to fly without a broom. No such potion existed, so where Draco had gotten the idea in the first place was beyond him. But he’d ruined one of his father’s best cauldrons in the attempt. He was seven at the time.

Teddy thought it was all very funny, and Harry seemed amused as well, though he was watching Draco in that knowing way he sometimes did, possibly suspecting that listening to stories about himself was not his favorite activity.

It wasn’t even hearing about he ways he was a troublemaker that bothered him; it was remembering the way his father had made him feel about it afterwards.

But he suppressed it, smiling, ruffling Teddy’s hair, and eating his breakfast as usual.

When Teddy asked for another story, Harry steered the conversation somewhere else, asking instead what he and Draco were going to do together that day.

“Can we go to the park, Draco?” Teddy asked. “Please?”

“I don’t see why not,” Draco replied. “So long as we still leave you some quiet time before dinner.”

“We will, we will!” Teddy said, jumping up and down in his chair, at least until Harry gave him a look that told him quite plainly to sit back down again. “Maybe Geoffrey will be there,” Teddy mused. Geoffrey was the Muggle boy who lived only a few doors down, and who could be spotted on the playground in the park near Grimmauld Place most afternoons.

“Maybe he will,” Draco said. “We’ll just have to see, won’t we?”

Breakfast was soon finished, and Harry rushed upstairs for a quick shower while Draco helped Teddy collect his things for school. Soon they were ready to go, and Draco gave both Teddy and Harry kisses goodbye.

“You have that interview this afternoon, right?” Draco asked him. “With the _Prophet_?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Harry said, making a face.

Draco smiled sympathetically at him. Harry hated talking to reporters, but apparently it was necessary this time, to combat the allegations that Edmund Rowle and his lawyers were bringing against the DTF’s youth program. Draco was hardly surprised that Harry was the one to be chosen as the voice and face of the PR campaign, but he still felt annoyed on Harry’s behalf.

“You’ll be great, and it will be over before you know it,” he told Harry now, kissing him on the mouth.

“And it’s important,” Harry said with a sigh, kissing him back.

“Yes, it is.”

“I’ll see you when I get home.”

“Send a Patronus if it’s going to be later than eight, would you?”

“I’ll be home by eight,” Harry said firmly. “To kiss Teddy goodnight.” Draco smiled at him. “All right, we have to go, or we’re going to be late,” Harry said to his godson.

He gave Draco one last kiss, and Teddy waved goodbye, and then they were gone.

The house was suddenly so quiet. Draco returned to the kitchen.

“I’ll be in my study this morning, Pipsy,” Draco said to the elf, who was just finishing cleaning up from breakfast. “Would you mind bringing me tea in about an hour?”

“Very good, Master Draco, sir,” the elf replied with a smile. “Pipsy will be doing that.”

“Thank you, Pipsy,” Draco said. For his duties around the house, he certainly didn’t need to rely on a house elf. But it was certainly nice to have one.

***

Draco spent the entire morning on the Gonzalez case. Mila’s pregnancy was going well, without any complications, but there was so much that was unprecedented about her situation that Draco was frightened something would go horribly wrong. He was determined to foresee any potential problems, whether it was the uterine shield failing and letting harmful magic into her womb, or if the fetus’ magic started to interfere with its mother’s. Or it could even be something simple, like Mila failing to maintain a healthy body weight as her child grew inside of her. Whatever it was, Draco would be ready for it.

He was quite grateful when Pipsy dutifully brought him his tea as instructed. He was trying to get through an article in _Maternity Healing_ on methods for creating artificial uterine shields if the original failed. This particular researcher was brilliant, unquestionably one of the leaders in the field, but her writing was dense and dry, and made his brain feel sluggish. A hit of caffeine was certainly welcome.

He sipped and made notes, which he intended to share with Iwu later. She had wanted to be kept apprised of how Mila’s case was going, but Draco also wanted to find out how much she knew about shield magic when it came to Healing, as he had never done anything like this before so far in his residency.

 _Am I out of my depth with this case?_ he asked himself for about the hundredth time.

He sure as hell hoped not.

***

Draco was able to leave the house to pick up Teddy feeling productive. He’d researched all morning, then did some brewing in the afternoon to restock Grimmauld’s supply of household potions. It was all things they could buy in Diagon Alley, certainly, but Draco liked to brew. He knew those recipes by heart, and it relaxed him. Plus it was important that he keep his skills up, in case brewing and research turned out to be a part of his Senior Healing practice.

And now he had the rest of the day to focus on Teddy, and he was looking forward to it. It was wonderful when they were all together the three of them, but Draco was aware of how much Harry and Teddy had had a chance to bond since he’d moved in, and how much Draco was falling behind by comparison. He wanted Teddy to feel completely safe and comfortable with either of them, like they both were really his parents. Draco couldn’t help but feel this day was an important step towards that.

As soon as Draco entered the wards of the school he could hear the voices and laughter of children playing. School had just released for the day and there were already many parents around, collecting their children, as well as one of the teachers standing at the gate as usual, parchment in hand to check off the students as they left. Strangely, though, it was a woman Draco didn’t recognize. He knew both of Teddy’s teachers well by this point, and he knew he’d never seen this woman at the school before.

“Excuse me,” he said as he approached. The woman looked up from her parchment and took him in with dark, beady eyes. “I’m Draco Malfoy. We haven’t met.”

“Matilda Sturgis,” she said. “I’m filling in for the week while Ms. Shreever is out.”

“Ah,” Draco said, nodding. “Well, I’m here to pick up Teddy for the day.” He spotted the boy on the jungle gym, playing with Toby and one other child, a girl with a blue bow in her blonde hair, and he waved. Teddy waved back, grinning.

“Teddy?” the woman asked.

“Lupin,” Draco said, eyeing her. There was only one Teddy in the class, so why she would need the clarification was beyond him.

“Mm.” She checked the list. “It says here his legal guardians are Harry Potter, his godfather, and Andromeda Tonks, his grandmother.”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “That’s true. But I’m Harry Potter’s partner, and Teddy lives with us. I’m also Teddy’s cousin. I pick him up from school regularly.” Surely she had to know all this already. If she hadn’t simply read about it in the papers, the other teachers would have informed her.

“You’re not on the list.” Draco was surprised by the sharpness in the woman’s voice, and he felt something strange and heavy settle unpleasantly in his gut.

“What list?”

“Of adults approved to remove Teddy Lupin from the school grounds. Here it says it can be either of Teddy’s legal guardians, and for anyone else there must be expressed permission from either of his legal guardians before the fact. Given that neither Mr. Potter nor Mrs. Tonks confirmed in person or via owl that you would be collecting Teddy today, I’m afraid my hands are tied.”

Draco gaped at her. “That’s ridiculous. I haven’t heard of such a rule. And if there is one, Teddy’s teachers haven’t been enforcing it. I’m here all the time. You can ask Miss Adelaide.”

“I’m simply following the protocol, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I’d like to speak to Miss Adelaide, if you don’t mind.” His throat felt suddenly acidic, and he swallowed.

“I do mind, Mr. Malfoy. She’s in an important conversation with a parent and left me responsible for the end of the day collection.”

“A gross oversight on her part, but no one’s perfect,” Draco grumbled under his breath.

“I beg your pardon?”

“What do you propose we do then? I’m the one who’s here to collect Teddy.”

“Contact Mr. Potter or Mrs. Tonks to come collect him instead,” she said, as though this was perfectly reasonable.

“They aren’t available. His godfather can’t be pulled from work and his grandmother is very ill and receiving treatment at the hospital, or did no one tell you that? _I’m_ the one who-”

“Draco?”

Draco stopped mid-sentence, looking down to see that Teddy had appeared at the gate and was watching their exchange with wide blue eyes.

“Hey, Teddy,” Draco greeted him, forcing his voice to be calm.

“I’m ready to go,” said the boy, glancing nervously at Ms. Sturgis a moment.

“Good, then let’s go.” Draco’d had enough of this, and he certainly didn’t want to subject Teddy to it. He reached out his hand as Teddy came through the gate, and Teddy took it.

“Mr. Malfoy!” Ms. Sturgis cried, incensed. “I have not given permission!”

“I’m one of the adults responsible for him. I don’t need your permission,” Draco said, doing everything he could to rein in his temper.

“You do, actually,” she replied, her eyes hardening. “Teddy can’t leave the wards until I have signed his name off on my parchment. Surely you knew that.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am perfectly serious. It’s a minor but effective safety precaution, a means to keep those who are dangerous or undesirable from making off with our precious children.” Her mouth seemed to twist in a smirk briefly before flattening out again. “Like criminals, or kidnappers, or… former Death Eaters, for example.”

Draco felt his insides seize up in rage. So that was this was about. She wasn’t just some foolish, stubborn substitute teacher who was misunderstanding the situation. She was doing this deliberately, because she knew who he was.

“You’re out of line, Ms. Sturgis,” he said, aware that his voice was a little shaky. He felt Teddy clutch at his trouser leg and reminded himself to remain in control. “I’ll be filing an official complaint with the school, I hope you realize.”

“Seeing as how you are neither a parent nor guardian, that Teddy is not your son in any way that could possibly matter, I hardly see why they would care,” the woman said acidly. “The complaints of a former war criminal, even one that has gone unpunished-“

Draco stepped closer, putting himself right in her face, keeping his voice low so that Teddy wouldn’t hear. “How _dare_ you? In front of a child, _my_ child?”

“He’s not yours, Mr. Malfoy,” the woman said, her voice considerably louder than his. “You are not his father _or_ his godfather. You have no legal claim on him. If you manage to take him off the grounds, I am well within my rights to report you for kidnapping. That would certainly make an interesting headline, don’t you think? 'Former Death Eater Kidnaps War Orphan'?”

Draco stood there, vibrating from the rage coursing through him. It had been a long time since he’d encountered this level of contempt for him in public. He reminded himself that he’d experienced worse than this, especially when he and Harry had started dating, and that most of his anger came from the fact that she was saying all this in front of Teddy.

 _Teddy is watching_. That thought kept him grounded. _Don’t do anything you wouldn’t want him to see._ He looked down at his little cousin, who had metamorphed into a mini-Malfoy, complete with platinum blond hair and silver-gray eyes, looking much like Draco had at that age. He was staring at Matilda Sturgis with more anger than Draco had ever seen in the little boy.

 _“_ Teddy,” he said gently. “Would you go get Miss Adelaide for me? Tell her you’re sorry to interrupt, but it’s an emergency, and I need to speak with her right away.”

Teddy nodded, but first came to hug Draco tightly around one of his legs before letting go and making his way back to the school. Draco turned back to Sturgis.

“Mr. Malfoy, you can’t simply let him interrupt-“

“You are likely too stupid to understand what you have just done,” he talked over her, enjoying the shocked look on her face, “but you will find out soon that you’re not going to be working with children in any capacity for the rest of your life. I will be seeing to that personally.”

“You don’t have the kind of pull you think you have, Malfoy,” the woman said. “After what your family has done, what your father-“

“My father is a murderer, a bastard, and a fool, Ms. Sturgis,” Draco said. “And if he hurt you or someone you love, I am truly sorry for that. But I am not him, and I will not tolerate attacks on _my_ character, especially not in front of a child who is too young to understand those sort of things. He barely understands why his parents are dead, or his godfather’s part in the war. And to suggest in front of him that he ought to be _afraid_ of certain members of his family, people who have taken care of him his whole life… it’s not just me your hurting, Ms. Sturgis, it’s him. And that is what you’ll be paying for, mark my words.”

The woman’s face twisted. “You are not worthy of caring for a war orphan like the son of Remus Lupin,” she spat. “Nor are you worthy of a hero like Harry Potter. The fact that you are walking free is a disgrace-“

“Let’s see what Miss Adelaide thinks of the situation, shall we?” Draco cut her off. He could feel his hand twitching towards his wand, and knew he was in danger of doing something very stupid if Sturgis kept talking any longer. It was with relief that he saw the teacher and Teddy crossing the playground towards them. He saw Sturgis turn her head away, trying to compose her expression, and he did the same, forcing a friendly smile onto his face. “Cora,” he said, turning back to Teddy’s teacher. “Good afternoon.”

“Mr. Malfoy,” Miss Adelaide replied. “Good to see you again. What seems to be the problem? Teddy here was telling me you couldn’t get off school grounds.”

“We weren’t given permission,” Draco replied. “Ms. Sturgis seems to be under the impression that only Harry or Andromeda can collect him.”

Miss Adelaide opened her mouth in surprise, tucking a strand of her short, dark hair behind an ear. “Oh, Ms. Sturgis, I thought I was perfectly clear with you. Mr. Malfoy is one of Teddy’s guardians, though there isn’t official paperwork on it.” She turned to Draco. “It’s an oversight on our part, Mr. Malfoy. We’ll correct it immediately. It’s only that when school started, Teddy was still in his grandmother’s care, and when the paperwork was filled out…”

“That’s all right, I understand,” Draco said graciously. “Though obviously we should add me to this approved list, if it’s going to be a problem in the future.”

“It will never be a problem again, I assure you. We’ve understood the situation for a long time, Mr. Malfoy. You are always welcome here.”

Draco looked at Ms. Sturgis. “Not by everyone.”

“I was simply following the letter of the law,” the other woman replied stiffly. “You know, the school is liable in such an event as a child being allowed to be removed unlawfully by a strange man.”

“Oh, but Ms. Sturgis,” Miss Adelaide began to argue. “Mr. Malfoy is hardly a stranger.”

“That’s not why she detained us,” Draco said. “Don’t let her fool you.”

“Mr. Malfoy?”

“She made it perfectly clear why.” Draco felt hands gripping his trouser leg again, and glanced down to see Teddy looking up at him with pleading eyes. “You ought to ask her about it, Miss Adelaide, though I doubt she’ll tell you the truth. I really ought to be getting Teddy home now. However, please know that I’ll be filing a formal complaint, and Harry and I will be contacting you about a meeting to address it within the next couple of days.”

The teacher looked completely taken aback. “I… I’m incredibly sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I’ll get to the bottom of this, I assure you.”

“I appreciate that,” Draco said. “As well as your graceful and efficient handling of the situation. Now, if you would be so kind.” He looked at Sturgis expectantly. She stared back at him.

“Ms. Sturgis, allow them through the wards,” Miss Adelaide said impatiently. “Or I shall take the parchment from you and do it myself.”

Reluctantly, with her mouth set in a grim line, the woman lifted her quill and scratched out Teddy’s name.

“You’re free to go, Mr. Malfoy. Teddy,” Miss Adelaide said, leaning down to look the boy in the eye. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Everything is all right, don’t worry.”

Teddy simply nodded, still clutching against his cousin. Draco put a hand on his small blond head.

“Let’s go, love, it’s all right,” he said softly to the boy.

When they were outside the wards, Draco drew his wand and offered his hand to Teddy for their Apparition. “Would you still like to go to the park and play for a bit before dinner, Teddy?” Draco asked him.

The boy shook his head. “No thank you. It’s cold out. Let’s just go home.”

Draco nodded, suppressing a sigh. This was supposed to be their fun afternoon together, just the two of them, but that Sturgis woman had ruined the mood. Teddy was likely not simply angry about what the substitute had said, but also confused, which was making him turn inward as he was prone to do.

“It is a bit cold, isn’t it?” he said. “We can go home and, if you like, ask Pipsy to make us some hot chocolate.”

Teddy looked up him.

“Does that sound good?”

“Hot chocolate before dinner?”

“Yes.”

“Harry won’t get mad?”

“He won’t mind. This is a special occasion.”

He almost expected Teddy to ask _why_ this was a special occasion, but he didn’t. He simply nodded, his eyes brightening a little, and said, “Ok.”

Pipsy could tell that something had happened the moment they walked into the house. She made a fuss over removing Teddy’s jacket and taking his empty lunchbox and telling him what a good, sweet boy he was. When Draco asked her about the hot chocolate, she bowed low and said, “Right away for my masters. Pipsy is to be taking good care of you.”

“You know, Teddy,” Draco said, once Pipsy had scurried to the kitchen and out of sight. “I think you are Pipsy’s most favorite person she’s ever known.”

“Really?” Teddy asked.

“Yes, really. She took very good care of me when I was small, but she didn’t dote on me the way she dotes on you. You’re very special to her, I think. You’re special to all of us.”

“I’m going to take off my shoes,” Teddy said.

“All right,” Draco replied. Perhaps Teddy didn’t want to talk about this just yet. Draco had learned, watching Harry interact with him, that sometimes Teddy needed space to bring up conversations in his own time. He would just have to be patient.

Draco settled them both at the kitchen table and Pipsy brought them their hot chocolate, Draco’s in a normal mug and Teddy’s in his special no-spill cup for hot beverages, which was charmed to make sure the temperature wouldn’t burn his tongue.

Teddy took a sip while Draco watched him, putting the cup back on the table with his hands wrapped around it, as if absorbing the warmth.

“Is it to my masters’ liking?” Pipsy asked.

Draco took a sip and nodded. “It’s exactly right. Thank you, Pipsy.”

“Thank you, Pipsy,” Teddy repeated.

Nodding, satisfied, the elf left them to their enjoyment of the drink and their quiet contemplation.

Teddy stared into the foamy surface of his cup for another couple of minutes while Draco sipped from his mug, radiating patience as best he could. Finally, Teddy spoke, his voice soft.

“Why did Ms. Sturgis say that stuff?”

“Which stuff are you talking about, Teddy?” Draco asked gently.

“That you’re not my dad.” Draco opened his mouth to answer, not sure exactly what he was going to say, but Teddy kept talking. “I _know_ you’re not my dad. You’re my cousin. Everybody knows that.”

“That’s… true, Teddy,” Draco said cautiously. “Most people do know that.”

“So why did she say it if everybody already knows?”

“Because…” The answer to that question was multi-layered, more than most children twice Teddy’s age could understand. “Because she… well, honestly, Teddy, she thought saying something like that might hurt my feelings, and… that was what she wanted to do.” He had no idea if he was saying the right thing, but it was the truth.

“Why?”

“Because she doesn’t like me very much. Or, really, she thinks she knows me, because she knew my father. And she doesn’t like my father. So she also doesn’t like me.”

Teddy looked at him solemnly. “Your dad was a bad man,” he said. “I heard Nana and Aunt Cissy talking about it.”

Draco closed his eyes. He’d have to have a talk with his mother and aunt about discretion. Teddy shouldn’t have to be subjected to things like that, not when he was too young to understand.

“In many ways, yes, he wasn’t a very good man. He loved me as much as he could, I suppose. But he did some bad things, and he went to… he went somewhere where he couldn’t do those things anymore.”

“He went to jail?”

Draco sighed. “Yes. He went to jail.”

“Do you miss him?”

Draco stared at his cousin, unsure how to answer. “That’s a really complicated question you’re asking, Teddy,” he said. “I don’t know. Not most of the time. Most of the time I’m glad he’s somewhere where he can’t… I’m glad he’s far away. But other times… sometimes I remember good things about him, and I miss that part of him.”

Teddy nodded and took a sip of hot chocolate. “What bad things did he do?”

Draco bit his lip. “I’m not ready to tell you about that yet, Teddy. Someday, I promise I will tell you everything. But I’m not ready yet.”

Teddy didn’t push, only sat in silence. They both sipped on their drinks quietly until Teddy spoke again.

“Aunt Cissy said that your dad doesn’t like Harry and doesn’t want you to be together.”

“Did Aunt Cissy say this to you or to Nana?”

“To Nana.”

“I really wish you… it’s not nice to listen in on other people’s conversations, Teddy.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Teddy insisted. “They thought I was asleep.”

“And you didn’t tell them that you were actually awake?” Draco asked with the arch of a brow.

Teddy frowned and stared into his cup, not answering.

“Aunt Cissy and Nana shouldn’t have said those things in front of you, even if they thought you were sleeping,” Draco said. “I just wish you hadn’t heard it at all.”

“Why not?”

“Because there are things that happened before you were born, that were still happening when you were born, that made it…” Draco ran a hand through his hair. “It was a very difficult, very scary time to be a witch or wizard. A lot of bad things were happening. A lot of people got hurt. And it’s not something that we ever want you to go through. We’re trying to make a world where that will never happen again. We want our children to be able to live without those kinds of memories. But it’s hard sometimes, because so many of the people in your life went through all that and sometimes we need to talk about it with each other. But I would rather you not have to hear about it. I don’t want you to hear things that will upset you.”

“It didn’t upset me,” said Teddy. “I just… I want to _know_.”

“I know, Teddy. And you will, when you’re older.”

Teddy crossed his arms over his chest. “Harry says that all the time. Everybody does, so they don’t have to tell me about things.”

Draco sighed. Yes, that would be the frustrating thing about being an emotionally intelligent five-year-old who spent most of his time around veterans of a war. He probably always felt like there were secrets that everyone around him knew but that were being kept from him “for his own good.”

“There is a lot you can’t know yet,” he said. “I’m sorry for that, but that’s the way it is. But I can tell you, some things, if you like.” Teddy nodded fervently, and Draco continued. “There was a war that ended only a few weeks after you were born. A very bad man named Voldemort wanted to hurt and control a lot of people. But there were also people who wanted to stop him and make the world safe for everyone. Harry was one of those people. In some ways, he was the most important. But he wasn’t alone in fighting Voldemort. Hermione, Ron, your parents, your Nana, the Weasleys, and a lot of other people fought alongside him to make sure the world would be a better place for you and children like you.”

“And you and Aunt Cissy? Did you fight him too?”

“We played our part, yes.” Draco was unwilling to say more than that. Some day, when Teddy could understand the nuance of such things, he would explain.

“And your dad?”

“He was on the opposite side. He… helped Voldemort do some bad things. Harry fought against him. That’s why they don’t like each other.”

“And he doesn’t like you to be with Harry and love him?”

“That’s right.”

“Oh.”

“But that doesn’t matter to me, you know, Teddy,” Draco said, leaning forward. “What my father thinks or what he wants me to do… it will never make me stop loving Harry. I will always want to be with him and we will always want you to stay with us, as our child. That will never change.”

Teddy ran a small finger along the handle of his cup. “How do you know?”

“I just know it. Sometimes you just… _know_ things.”

“But aren’t kids supposed to do what their parents tell them?”

“When they’re growing up, yes. But eventually all children become adults and then they’re old enough to make choices for themselves.” He watched Teddy furrow his brow, taking that in. He wanted to say something else, but he wasn’t sure it was something Teddy would understand. “Most parents want the best things for their children. They want them to grow up and become their own people and be happy. That’s what your parents wanted for you, you know. For you to grow up and be happy and free to live your life. That’s why they fought so hard, because of how much they loved you and wanted that for you.”

“And that’s why they died.”

“Yes.”

“Nana told me that too.”

“I know, and it’s true. They were very good parents, Teddy. But… my father… You have to understand… not everybody gets good parents like that. Sometimes parents don’t always do what they’re supposed to do. Sometimes parents don’t want their children to grow up and be free. My father… he wanted me to grow up and be like him, and when I didn’t act like him, he wasn’t very nice to me. And that made my life difficult, for a long time, until I was old enough to think for myself and make my own choices. That’s why I’m glad he’s in jail and far away, because it means I can be free to live my life how I want to live it.” He had no idea if Teddy would get any of this. But he was a smart kid, who understood feelings and relationships better than most his age, and so maybe he would get at least some of it.

Teddy was quiet for a long time, staring into his cup. Draco watched him, thinking again how much like Harry the boy could be, in moments like this. Teddy had kept his blond hair, but as they sat and talked he’d turned his eyes green, and Draco almost felt like he could see Harry staring out of them.

“Toby asked me if I miss my mum and dad,” Teddy said finally. “I said I did sometimes. But I don’t remember them, so it doesn’t feel the same as when I miss Nana or you or Harry.”

“I think that’s a normal way to feel about that, Teddy,” Draco reassured him. Teddy furrowed his brow, and Draco wondered what he was thinking. He looked confused, as if he was trying to come to terms with ideas he couldn’t fully understand, or ask a question he didn’t know how to put into words.

_Can a person really miss someone they don’t remember, that they never really knew?_

“I know you…” Draco began. He had no idea if Teddy was going to understand or respond well to what he wanted to say. But he didn’t know how else to say it. “I know you like to be clear about relationships, Teddy. I know you like to know who is who, how they relate to you, how you always say that I’m your cousin and Nana is your grandmother, and how you don’t like to call Hermione ‘Aunt’ or Blaise ‘Uncle’ because that’s not how you’re related to them. I understand that. But… the thing is… sometimes it’s more complicated than that. Sometimes how people are related to us by blood isn’t the whole story. Sometimes they are more or less to us depending on… circumstances.” Draco cringed, staring into his nearly empty drink. He wasn’t good at this sort of thing. It required a vulnerability he really wasn’t used to, with anyone but Harry. But some things required risk. Some things mattered too much _not_ to risk it.

 _Be brave,_ he told himself.

“Your mum and dad will always be your mum and dad, Teddy, even if they’re gone. But other people in your life can be parents to you too, have been parents to you, like Nana, and Harry… and me, if… you want.” Teddy looked at him, his eyes wide open. Draco took a deep breath. “In my heart, you _are_ my son. It doesn’t matter that by blood we’re cousins. In my heart it’s… different than that. Do you understand what I mean?”

Teddy thought that over. “Because I live with you?”

“That’s part of it, yes,” Draco said. “And I do the sort of things that a parent would do for you. Like what Toby’s mum and dad do for him.”

“Like read to me and give me a bath?”

Draco smiled. “Yes, that.”

“And let me stay in your bed when I’m scared and come to school to pick me up?” Teddy was sitting up straighter now, as if there was something he was really understanding for the first time.

“Yes. What else?”

“And take me to the playground and tell me to be careful on the swings and heal me if I fall and get a cut?”

“All of that,” Draco said. “And something else, too, Teddy. The most important thing.” When Teddy didn’t seem to have an answer, Draco went on. “What do I tell you every night before you go to bed?”

Teddy put a finger to his lips. “You say good night and you love me.”

“That’s right, Teddy. I love you. Unconditionally. Do you know what that means? Unconditionally?”

Teddy shook his head.

“It means that no matter what happens, no matter what you do or where you go or what choices you make, I will always love you. No matter what. I know Harry feels the same way. That’s why we think of you as our son, because we love you unconditionally.”

Teddy looked at him. “Ms. Sturgis acted like she knew everything about it. But she doesn’t know anything, does she?” There was a trace of anger in his voice, though strangely it made Draco want to smile.

“Not about this,” Draco replied. “Not about how much I love you. She doesn’t understand that at all. But that doesn’t matter. She doesn’t have any say in how we make our family. She can never take you from me. I’ll make sure of it.”

Teddy didn’t ask how. There was no doubt in his gaze at all as he looked at Draco. “I know,” he said.

Draco smiled, then opened his arms. “Can I have a hug? I could really use one.”

Teddy hopped off his chair and climbed into Draco’s lap. Draco held him close, feeling his heart swell up. He wasn’t going to be thanking Matilda Sturgis for her unkind words anytime soon, but he couldn’t help but think that this was a conversation he and Teddy had needed to have.

They stayed that way for a while in silence, until Teddy finally started to squirm. Draco loosened his hold, kissing him on the head and asking, “Would you like some quiet time in your room before dinner?” With all that had happened that afternoon, with all they had talked about, it wouldn’t have surprised Draco to learn Teddy needed some time alone to process it.

“Yeah,” said Teddy. “But can we do a puzzle after? I want to do the new one that Nana got me.”

“That sounds perfect, Teddy,” Draco said, kissing him again. “Just perfect.”

***

Harry arrived home a few minutes before eight, just as Draco and Teddy were starting their final story of the night. He came into the room quietly and sat on the bed, listening to Draco read. When he was finished, Teddy reached out to Harry, and Harry hugged him.

“Missed you guys,” he said softly. “How was your day together?”

“It was good,” Teddy said. “Once we got home.”

Harry arched a brow. “But before that?”

“There’s a new teacher at school. She was mean.”

Harry’s whole face tightened. “She was mean to you?”

“No. She was mean to Draco.”

Harry looked at Draco, confused.

“I’ll tell you all about it,” Draco promised him. He looked at Teddy. “But it’s time for you to go to sleep.”

“But Harry just got home,” Teddy said.

“You’ll see me in the morning. And tomorrow after school we’ll play together, yeah?” Harry reassured him.

“You can’t just read me one more story?” Teddy asked, making his best crup-puppy eyes at his godfather. “Just one?”

Draco rolled his eyes where Teddy couldn’t see and saw Harry fight a smile.

“Very well,” Harry sighed. “I’ll read you one story. And then it’s time to sleep. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” said Teddy.

Draco kissed Teddy goodnight and left the two of them to have some alone time. “I’ll make us some tea,” he told Harry.

“Thanks. I’ll have chamomile,” Harry said as he settled in next to Teddy.

Draco put the kettle on in the kitchen, but was soon accosted by Pipsy, who wanted to know what he was doing and why he wasn’t letting her do it for him.

“It’s all right, Pipsy, you rest,” he told the elf. “It’s just tea.”

“It is Master Draco who should be having rest,” Pipsy insisted. “You is having a bad day.”

“I appreciate that,” he said. “But it wasn’t a bad day, actually. It was just…” He didn’t really know how to put it into words. The things Sturgis had said had stuck with him, implanted themselves in his brain in a way he hadn’t expected. He thought he ought to feel upset, but he was feeling something else instead. A kind of urgency. “Difficult,” he finished. “But also enlightening.”

Pipsy blinked at him for a few seconds. “Pipsy is making tea, Master Draco. You is resting, and I is bringing it to you.”

Draco sighed, accepting the inevitable. “Very well. Harry and I will both have chamomile. He’ll be down in just a few minutes.”

He left Pipsy in the kitchen and wandered into the sitting room, where one of the bookcases was now reserved for Teddy’s puzzles and other games. It had become a tradition of sorts, these past few months since Teddy had moved in, to do puzzles before dinner and play a game after dinner. Draco liked the look of those brightly colored boxes stacked on top of one another, a nice contrast to the dusty old books that sat higher on the shelves, old Black tomes that were rarely touched. The ancient and the modern, the past and the future, resting alongside each other.

And then there was the mural, vibrant and healthy-looking now, with portraits of all the Blacks and their descendants, plus a few extras, like Harry, who had been inducted into the family legally.

Draco belonged on here all on his own, since his mother was a Black. His portrait, as far as he knew, had been on the mural since birth. But now it was attached not only to his parents by golden lines, indicating that he was their heir, but also by a thin white line to Harry, who was not far from him, nestled under Sirius’ name. That had happened not long after he had moved in, to recognize their relationship. Those who were married were connected in red, and Draco always wondered if as their relationship deepened his and Harry’s line would start to take on a color. It hadn’t.

 _It will_ , he reminded himself. _When we’re married, it will._

That wasn’t the line he was focusing on now. Instead he was looking at the golden one that connected Harry to Teddy, the one that made it clear that they were as good as father and son.

There was nothing connecting Draco and Teddy. Not on the mural anyway.

 _It might just be time to change that,_ Draco mused as he ran his fingers along the various lines around his, Harry’s, and Teddy’s portraits. He would have to think about how he wanted to go about that.

A small sound in the doorway had Draco turning his head. Harry stood there, watching him, his expression one of concern.

“Teddy said more to you about what happened with Ms. Sturgis, didn’t he?” Draco said, reading Harry's face.

“As much as he was able to understand of it, anyway,” said Harry. He approached Draco, wrapping his arms around Draco’s waist. “Will you tell me the rest?”

Draco rested his forehead against Harry’s. “Yes. Why don’t we sit down?”

Harry smiled ruefully. “I think I’ll stay standing. I have a feeling I’m going to need to do some pacing while I listen to this.”

That made Draco laugh. “You’re probably right.” It was easy to predict that this particular tale was going to get Harry properly livid.

Harry kissed him. “Tell me,” he said gently.

Draco closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and began.


	23. Blow It All Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so thrilled to get the response to the last chapter and how much you care about Draco :) This is a continuation of that plot line. It's short and sweet, but hopefully satisfying anyway.
> 
> I love you all! <33

(Harry)

“Nana!” Teddy cried, jumping off the jungle gym and running right into his grandmother’s arms.

“Hello, my sweet boy,” Harry heard Andromeda say softly, cradling Teddy’s head and giving him a kiss.

Harry smiled, his heart warming at the sight. Teddy knew that Andromeda would be accompanying them to pick him up from school today, but that had clearly not bridled his enthusiasm one bit.

“Harry and Draco said that you’re taking me to Aunt Cissy’s house today,” Teddy said to Andromeda.

“That’s right. We can go as soon as you have your things.”

“I have them right here, remember?” Teddy said, pointing to his little backpack and lunchbox that he kept by the fence so he could play unhindered once school let out.

“Of course,” Andromeda said. “I’d forgotten.”

Once Teddy put his backpack on he was ready to go, and Harry crouched down to say goodbye to him.

“We’ll see you in time for dinner, Ted,” he said. “Be really good for Cissy and Nana, all right?”

Teddy hadn’t asked for much explanation when Harry and Draco told him that they would be staying at school without him while he went to the manor for the afternoon. He seemed to know instinctively that the meeting they’d scheduled with his teachers was somehow related to the incident with the “mean” Ms. Sturgis. He didn’t particularly care about the details, only that he would be getting to spend the afternoon with Andromeda.

“I’ll bring him back around half five, if that suits you,” Andromeda said to Harry.

“That sounds great,” Harry replied. “Thanks for doing this.”

“It’s my absolute pleasure. Teddy and I are going get up to such fun, aren’t we?”

Kisses and hugs were exchanged all around, with Teddy giving Draco an extra-long one, as he had been doing lately. Since the incident, and the talk that Draco and Teddy had, Teddy had been clinging to Draco a bit, enough that he became rather upset when he had to go back to the hospital for a shift.

Harry remembered the way Draco had held Teddy tightly, kissing him all over his head and face.

“You know how much I love you, Ted,” he had heard Draco murmur to the boy. “I’ll always come back to you, I promise.”

Something had definitely shifted between Draco and Teddy in the past few days. It was hard to pinpoint any actual evidence of it. Rather it was just a feeling Harry had, like they were on the verge of some turning point.

He turned his attention to Draco now, rubbing a hand along the small of his back. Draco gave him a soft smile.

“Ready?” Harry asked. Draco nodded.

Cora Adelaide was waiting for them on the steps of the school, offering them both a warm smile. “Good afternoon, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy,” she said. “Won’t you come inside? Ms. Shreever will be joining us shortly, once she finishes monitoring collection for the day.”

She led them into the school, down the hallway and past the main classroom, a large, bright space full of blocks, games, and art supplies, and into a small teacher’s lounge.

“Can I get you anything? Tea, coffee, water?”

Harry and Draco both declined, and took seats next to each other on a small sofa. Miss Adelaide sat across from them, crossing her legs primly and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, a nervous gesture, Harry assumed. Miss Adelaide was the younger of the two main teachers in this school, not all that much older than Harry or Draco, and Harry sometimes suspected she found them rather intimidating.

Harry smiled at her reassuringly. It was neither his nor Draco’s intention frighten or upset her, though he did expect some answers and some assurances.

“I’m glad you could come this afternoon,” Miss Adelaide said.

“Thank you for making the time for us,” Harry said.

“Of course,” she said, tucking her hair behind her ear again. “Let me start by saying again how terribly sorry we are for what happened. I was absolutely appalled when I heard the full extent of Ms. Sturgis’ language towards you, Mr. Malfoy. It was completely inappropriate and uncalled for, and I hope you know that it doesn’t at all reflect the way that the rest of us here feel towards you. We welcome you with open arms.”

“Thank you,” Draco replied. “I certainly know that her opinions were hers alone.”

“Good. I really can’t believe she said those things.”

“I’ve heard worse,” Draco said wryly. “It wasn’t the fact that she felt that way that was a concern to me. It was the way she chose to express her feelings.”

“Of course, of course,” Miss Adelaide said. “In public, and in front of Teddy. We’re very sorry for that.”

“I hope that Ms. Sturgis has been dealt with,” Harry chimed in, “and that she won’t be returning as a substitute in the future.”

“We’ve removed her from our approved substitutes list, as well as filed an incident report that will go alongside your complaint, and that will remain in our permanent records. She will never work here again, and if anyone contacts us for a reference, we will be forthright and honest about her indiscretion.”

“Good,” said Draco. “Although I was a bit… confused when Teddy told me she was still there the next day. I would have hoped to see her gone immediately.”

“Yes,” Miss Adelaide said, swallowing. “That was… an unfortunate necessity, as we had hired her for the week and, though I asked around immediately, I wasn’t able to get new coverage until Thursday. So we did have her for one more day.”

“How was Teddy in the classroom with her? Did he seem upset?” Harry asked.

“I kept Teddy in my group most of the day. I believe their interactions were limited to her supervising recess with me after lunch.”

Harry nodded. He could live with that. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“How did he seem… emotionally, though?” Draco asked. “That’s our main concern. He’s been a bit fragile while home with us, just a bit quieter and more clingy than usual. Has he been that way at school?”

“He spent most of the rest of the week practically joined at the hip with Toby Goldstein,” Miss Adelaide said. “I believe he finds much of his emotional support in that friendship.”

“But he hasn’t sought you out to talk about it, or seemed withdrawn during activities?” Draco pressed.

“He’s been very engaged with the class, and, though I’ve checked in with him and have told him he can talk to me about anything, he hasn’t taken me up on that.” The teacher’s voice was a bit more confident now. “You know how he can be. He handles emotional stress by putting time and energy into helping others. Since his grandmother fell ill, he has been the champion of any child who is has been having a hard time with being bullied, or other things.”

“Like Liam,” said Harry.

“Precisely. He still helps and includes Liam quite a bit while at school. And there’s another child, Salena Thompson. She’s been in the sights of Ivy Cartwright lately, who, as you know, we’ve had some problems with, and Teddy has rather taken Salena under his wing.” Harry nodded. Ivy Cartwright was the girl that told Teddy that two boys couldn’t get married. Apparently she was one of those quite bossy children who liked to tell other children what to do or how the world was supposed to work. “I’ve been watching him do this for the past few months,” Miss Adelaide went on. “It’s how he handles his own hardships. I think it fulfills a part of him that needs it at the moment, makes him feel better.”

“That’s all well and good,” said Draco. “But I worry about the way he sublimates his own feelings in that way, if only because then he’s not really _dealing_ with them. And he’s been through so much already this year, what with Andromeda’s illness and moving in with us. And the fact that his parents are dead and he can’t even remember them.” Draco’s voice was a bit shaky, Harry noticed, very unusual for him. This whole incident with Sturgis has taken an emotional toll on Draco as well, though he wasn’t talking about that so much, focusing more on Teddy. “It would be confusing for any child, especially when he comes to school and is surrounded by other children who have more traditional families, with two parents who they’ve consistently lived with. I have to wonder if all that isn’t affecting him, at least subconsciously.”

“I completely understand your concern, Mr. Malfoy,” Miss Adelaide said. “But, actually, the family landscape for the children here is quite diverse. Teddy is not the only child at our school orphaned by the war, and there are quite a large number, in Teddy’s age bracket and above, who lost at least one parent. Some are being raised in single parent households, with the help of other family, and some are being raised by relatives like aunts, uncles, or grandparents. Teddy’s best friend may happen to be a boy with an intact, traditional family, but Teddy is not alone in his situation. This entire generation of young people, I believe, will understand better than any of us that a family doesn’t always constitute a mum, a dad, and their children, that it can look many different ways and have many forms.”

The other teacher, Ms. Shreever, a soft-spoken, graying woman with kind brown eyes, joined them then, and Miss Adelaide got her quickly up to speed before turning back to Draco and Harry.

“I agree that we should keep an eye on Teddy’s emotional state, however, and make sure he does always have an outlet for expressing his feelings directly, when he’s ready to do so.”

“That’s the key for me,” Harry said. “Teddy doesn't always share right away when something is bothering him. We have to be patient with him. And if he’s in a place or with people where he doesn’t feel entirely safe, he won’t share at all. I want school to be as much a safe place for him as home is.”

“Of course,” Miss Adelaide said. “We want that too.”

“I’m sure you do,” said Harry. “But then a substitute comes along and behaves in such a way that threatens that. I know you can’t have complete control over the way another person behaves, but I’d like to think that you’ve set a standard of behavior for your substitutes.”

“We have,” Ms. Shreever said gently. “Our screening process is very extensive. It includes not just closely checking references, but also doing a check of their criminal history.”

“And yet Ms. Sturgis managed to come through that screening,” Harry said mildly. “I’m sure she has no criminal history and that her references were good, so long as she was only working with children whose parents or guardians weren’t people who she felt a personal dislike towards. But then she meets Draco and is completely unprofessional. How does your screening process test for that?”

The two teachers exchanged a look. Miss Adelaide was looking a bit helpless, but Ms. Shreever turned back to them with a calm expression.

“It seems to me the issue is a certain kind of… sensitivity, or lack of sensitivity, I should say, on the part of Ms. Sturgis regarding the diversity of backgrounds of our students. We already make it clear that we don’t tolerate blood purist, racist, or homophobic biases shown towards our students, parents, or fellow teachers. But perhaps that needs to extend to other kinds of biases, like a parent’s role in the war, for example. We can certainly ask questions related to that in our interview process, and make it clear what kinds of behavior will and will not be tolerated.”

“I don’t want Teddy to be singled out in any way. Or Draco, for that matter,” said Harry.

“Of course not. There are a number of children here whose families have backgrounds others might make judgments about. We’ll be sure to make the questions cover a variety of potential issues. Miss Adelaide and I will work on that immediately, and, if you like, we can owl you what we’ve come up with, so you know exactly what approach we’re taking going forward.”

Harry looked at Draco, raising his eyebrows in a question. Draco nodded at him.

“I think that would suit us very well,” he said.

Ms. Shreever nodded calmly, while Miss Adelaide looked visibly relieved. The four of them talked a bit more about Teddy and ways to support him at school, and then they wrapped up the meeting.

“I feel better about this,” Harry said to Draco as they left the school. “How about you?”

“Yes,” Draco said. “Their handling of it was quite satisfactory.”

Harry looked at Draco, wondering what was going on in his brain at the moment. Draco had been rather contemplative since the incident. He wasn’t withdrawn, exactly; he was quite loving to Teddy and Harry both. But Harry could tell something was on his mind. Harry just didn’t know what it was and whether it was good or bad.

“Are you all right?” Harry asked him.

Draco gave him a soft kiss. They were outside the school’s wards now, ready to Apparate home. “Yes, I am,” he said. “Let’s go home."

When they returned to Grimmauld, Harry saw that they had well over an hour before Andromeda was due to bring Teddy back. Normally Harry would be suggesting that they spend this extra time in the bedroom, shagging like kneazles. But he suspected Draco wasn’t much in the mood, given the way he wandered into the kitchen in silence, running a hand through his hair.

“Shall I make us some tea?” Harry suggested.

“I’d rather like something a bit stronger,” Draco said. “How about some Ogden’s?”

“Sure,” said Harry.

As if she were eavesdropping on them (which, come to think of it, she likely was), Pipsy appeared in the kitchen, offering to serve them. She made quick work of settling them at the kitchen table, pouring them each a small glass of firewhiskey, and then flitting off away somewhere, giving them their privacy. Harry sipped his drink and watched Draco stare into his.

“I need to talk to you about something,” Draco said finally.

“All right.”

Draco tilted his glass to and fro, still staring at the amber liquid inside. “It’s a thought… an idea, that I can’t get out of my head. The more time passes, the more firmly it roots itself.” He took a sip, finally, and Harry waited. “I know that you would support me in this, but I do have concerns about Andromeda, about how she would feel about it. That’s what’s holding me back, honestly.”

“From what, Draco?” Harry asked. “From what idea?”

“I want to adopt Teddy. I want to make him legally mine.”

Harry felt himself take a surprised breath, but the feeling passed quickly. He realized he shouldn’t really be surprised at all. “This _is_ about what that awful teacher said, then. I figured it was, I just didn’t know in what way.”

“She was the catalyst, yes, that got me first thinking about this. But… in some respects she wasn’t wrong.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but Draco cut him off.

“I mean about the fact that I have no legal claim on him. I have no rights at all.”

“Draco, you know that neither Andromeda nor I would ever try to keep you from Teddy, no matter what happens.”

“I know you wouldn’t. That’s not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about… _official_ parenting, the legal side of things. I can’t legally make decisions on his behalf, I can’t authorize Healing care for him, I can’t… if, Merlin forbid, something happened to you and Andromeda was already gone, he wouldn’t come to me automatically. It’s unclear where he would go.”

“Surely to you and your mother,” Harry tried to reassure him. “You’d be the only family he has left.”

“Besides those cousins on his birth father’s side that we know little about,” Draco countered. “And even if I got him in the end, I would have to fight for him. And let’s not forget that the Malfoys still have quite a bad reputation among some people. Sturgis is proof of that. The courts might not side with me out of bias. And would we really want to put Teddy through something like that, after he’s lost so much?”

“Of course not,” Harry said. “I just… honestly, I hadn’t thought about it.”

“I hadn’t either, not until Sturgis started talking. I suppose in the back of my mind I always figured that when we got married and Andromeda was… well… I always thought that would be the easiest time to do it. But I don’t want to wait. I want to feel like Teddy is my own _now_ , in every way possible, in a way that no one can deny. I want to be his father _properly_ , with us as a proper family. Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” Harry said quietly. Perhaps that was where Draco was coming from when he talked with the teachers about Teddy not feeling like the other kids. It wasn’t about Teddy not living with his birth mother and father, but about the fact that nothing was really official, set in stone. He could understand why Draco would want to provide that stability.

“But how is Andromeda going to feel about that?” Draco said, interrupting Harry’s thoughts. “You would keep your legal guardianship, obviously, so she would have to be the one to revert her guardianship to me. Is that… will it be too much, after everything that’s happened? Will it feel like giving up too much?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t want to hurt her.”

“I can’t say how she would feel about it. But she would want to do what’s best for Teddy. And if this is what’s best...“

“I just feel awful, thinking of even asking it of her,” Draco said, and he did look genuinely miserable. “I’m sick about it. But I can’t let go of this idea. I don’t think I’ll be able to really relax until I know Teddy is mine. Perhaps that makes me awful and selfish, but there it is. Were we ever surprised?”

“It’s not awful and selfish, Draco. You just want us to be a family.”

“I know we already are,” Draco said. “But if it was legal, I would feel so much more secure.”

Something sparked inside of Harry, watching Draco swirl the whiskey around in his glass as he brooded over this conundrum. It was a thought, one that had lived inside him for a long time. For years, even. But it was coming to the surface now, insistent, clamoring against his brain, asking him why he hadn’t done something about this already.

“There is another… We could… You know… we could be thinking about this differently,” Harry said, placing a hand lightly on Draco’s wrist.

“In what way?”

“Being a… proper family, legally, in… every respect.”

Draco stared at him.

“We could get married, is what I’m saying.” Harry watched as Draco’s eyes widened in surprise. He leaned forward, his mouth twitching up at the corners.

“I wasn’t fishing for a proposal, you know.”

“I know,” Harry said, smiling softly. “But I wanted to bring it up anyway.”

“I thought we had decided to get married once I made Senior Healer.”

“We had,” said Harry. “Though I honestly can’t remember _why_. Looking back on it, it seems a bit arbitrary to me.”

“Because my schedule would be so much easier to manage then, and it would be easier to plan a wedding and take a honeymoon and all that. And we weren’t going to have any children until then anyway…” He trailed off.

Harry raised an amused eyebrow. “But we _do_ have a child. We have one _now_.” He didn’t need to point this out to Draco; he could tell by the look on the blond’s face that he was already thinking it. But he wanted to say it aloud anyway.

“That’s true…” Draco said. “But…”

“Still not sure you want to marry me, is that it? Still waiting for something better to come along?” Harry teased, although in truth it stung a little, Draco’s hesitation.

Draco rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. I’ve known for… well, a rather embarrassingly long time that I want to marry you. You know that’s not it.”

“Then what is it?”

“I don’t want us to feel like we _have_ to get married. I don’t want us to do it out of obligation. I want us to do it because we _want_ to.”

“You already said you want to.”

“Yes, but that’s just me.”

“You think I’m saying we should because I feel _obligated_?” Harry asked incredulously. “Draco…” Where did he even begin?

“I just think it should be something you’ve really thought through, not something that’s spur of the moment because I have this need to call you and Teddy my own, and you think this is an elegant solution.”

Harry gaped at Draco. “We’ve been together for five years. Do you honestly think that in those five years that I haven’t thought about it? I mean, we mention it often enough as it is.”

“Yes, but always about getting married in the _future_ -“

“I think about it all the time,” Harry insisted. “I’ve actually been counting down the days… ever since you started your residency and we decided we’d get married once it was finished, I’ve been counting down.” He stood, coming around the table and taking a chair next to Draco. The blond followed him with his eyes the whole way. “You’re not even halfway through your residency yet, and yet all I can think with every month that passes is ‘One more month closer to marrying Draco.’ It’s the truth!” he cried when Draco made a delicate snorting sound. “How can you doubt that, after everything…?” He gripped Draco’s chin, tilting it so Draco would look at him. “What do you need from me, to prove it to you? Do you need me to get you a ring? Some awful, gaudy thing with a massive diamond to show all off to all our friends? Or shall I throw a big party and when everyone is watching get down on one knee and serenade you with ‘The Wind Beneath My Wings’ or something equally ridiculous? Because I’ll do it, I swear.”

Draco shoved him playfully before wrapping a hand around the back of his neck. “Smartarse,” he said softly, looking like his mouth was about to split into a grin any moment.

“Tell me what to do, and I’ll do it,” Harry promised, placing a hand on Draco’s knee.

“Ask me.”

“What?”

Draco looked into his eyes, their faces only inches apart. “Don’t just suggest it, like something we should think about. _Ask_ me.”

Harry smiled, feeling like his face was about to break in half. He held Draco’s gaze. “Draco Malfoy,” he said, relishing the moment, the way it made Draco’s eyes shimmer, the way it made his lips tremble. “Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” Draco said, his voice hoarse. He smiled suddenly, finally, bright as the sun. “Yes.”

Harry closed the distance between them in one swift motion, and Draco met him there, their mouths colliding with need and passion. They kissed intensely, bruisingly, before their lips opened and it became softer, the meeting of tongues and the sharing of breath. They snogged and snogged, gripping each other’s hair like they never wanted to let go.

Draco suddenly laughed against Harry’s mouth.

“What?” Harry asked, staying right where he was, not wanting to pull away.

“We’re getting married,” Draco said.

Harry laughed too. “I know.”

“You’re going to be my… _husband._ ”

“Is that weird?”

“Yes,” said Draco. “And wonderful.”

Harry made love to Draco right on the kitchen table. With a wave of his wand he vanished their clothing and cast a cushioning charm, then laid Draco down on his back so he could have unfettered access. He sucked Draco’s cock while he teased and stretched his entrance, but Draco was eager and soon ready for him.

They fucked with their eyes open, Harry watching Draco arch against the wood of the table and Draco watching Harry standing over him, pounding into him. They didn’t seem to need words this time. They just panted, and smiled, and when Draco groaned Harry knew to thrust harder, and when Draco cried out Harry knew that he was barraging his prostate just the way he liked, and when Draco locked gazes with him again, he pleaded with his eyes, and Harry understood. Taking Draco’s cock in his hand Harry pumped, and thrust, and said, just once, “ _Draco_ ," and they both came.

They wound up on the kitchen table together afterward, intertwined and naked. They were silent for a while before Draco spoke.

“We’re going to have to sanitize this table if we’re going to serve Teddy dinner on it.”

They enjoyed a good laugh at that, relaxed and blissful, and still giddy from the engagement.

“Let’s get married right away,” Harry said, once he’d calmed down. “If we’re going to do it, I say we do it. I don’t want some long, torturous engagement like Ron and Hermione.”

“I’m all for doing it soon,” said Draco. “But we need at least a little bit of time. My mother will murder us both if we run off and just sign a piece of parchment, and not have a real bonding ceremony and everything.”

“Yes, I know,” Harry admitted. “But I want something simple anyway, which won’t take much planning. Like, maybe a month. We could have a Christmas wedding,”

“Too soon,” said Draco.

“Really?”

“I’m just telling you what I guarantee you my mother will tell us if we suggest Christmas.”

“January then.”

Draco thought that over. “I think she could be convinced, if…”

“If what?”

“If we had it at the manor. That would make all the planning much easier, since she knows the space, and she could get the house elves involved.”

“Done,” said Harry.

“Well, that was easy.”

“I honestly don’t care all that much about where we get married, or what kind of decorations there are, or any of that. All I care about is that we keep it small, only people we really want to be there, and that I can wear a tuxedo and not dress robes.”

“That’s _all_ you care about?” Draco asked skeptically. “What about the actual ceremony? Or do you want to just be told where to stand and what to say?”

“Well, yes, all right, I suppose there are some details I’d like to have a say in.”

“Thought so,” Draco said smugly. “Weddings are quite complicated you know, even when you try to make it as simple as possible. You may as well accept the inevitable.”

“And what’s the inevitable, exactly?”

“You’re going to be spending quite a bit of time with my mother in the next few weeks, talking about things you never thought you’d care about in a million years. Like color schemes and invitations and flowers and music…” He trailed off, as though there was going to be a lot more where that came from.

Harry considered that. He supposed that _was_ likely, especially since Draco would be at the hospital a lot, leaving much of the planning to him. But he could live with it. “But I get to marry you at the end, right?”

“Well, yeah. That’s the point.”

“Then all right. I’ll take it.”

Draco smiled, and they snogged a bit more, at least until Harry looked at the clock and realized it was nearly a quarter past five.

“I should start dinner. Which means we need to get dressed.” He looked around for his clothes on the floor before remembering that he’d vanished them, and they’d probably reappeared in their bedroom as that spell was designed to do. “Whoops,” he said. “I guess we’re going upstairs, then.”

They were dressed and presentable with only a couple of minutes to spare when Andromeda and Teddy arrived. Harry started preparing dinner, and the others stayed in the kitchen and chatted with him as he got everything ready, Teddy dominating the conversation as he caught Harry and Draco up on his very full day.

When dinner was nearly ready Harry instructed Teddy to go wash his hands, and the boy complied.

“I suppose that’s my cue,” said Andromeda, standing up.

“No, stay,” said Draco. “Have dinner with us.”

“Please do,” Harry chimed in. “We have plenty.”

“Are you sure?” the witch asked, looking from Draco to Harry. “I know you haven’t had much time with Teddy just the two of you today. I don’t want to intrude.”

“You could never intrude,” Draco insisted. “Not to mention…” He glanced at Harry. “Well, it’s going to be sort of a celebration dinner, really. We have some… exciting news.”

Andromeda was looking from one to the other again, this time with eagerness and curiosity. “Is it… wait… is it what I think?”

Harry grinned. “Might be. If what you’re thinking is that Draco and I are going to get married…”

Andromeda actually squealed in delight, which was very out of character for her and showed just how excited she was. “It’s about time,” she said as she gave each of them a hug.

“We thought so too,” said Harry. “But keep your lips sealed, at least until we’re done with dinner. Then we’ll tell Teddy.”

“Good idea,” she said. “He’ll be so excited, he’ll forget to eat otherwise.”

Teddy returned then, and they gathered around the table, the three adults keeping mum on the news. Harry smiled as he listened to the friendly chatter, a sense of complete rightness flowing through him.

 _I should send Matilda Sturgis a thank-you note,_ he thought, enjoying the irony of it, _for getting us to finally do what we’ve always wanted to do._ It was funny how life worked, sometimes.


	24. Sober and Unkissed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so SO happy you all enjoyed all the fluff and good feelings of the previous chapter. Now we've got another Vesper installment, so I hope you're up for some more Auror work, plus a serving or two of angst :)
> 
> As always, thoughts on this are very much welcome! I did a fair amount of editing on this one, but I am always trying to improve.

(Vesper)

“Harry and Draco are going to get married in January.”

Vesper swallowed her bite of scone and tilted her head. “I heard.”

Blaise waved a hand, a half-smile on his lips. “Of course.”

“Rumor has it we’ll both be in the wedding party.”

“I certainly hope so. I thought I might be Draco’s best man. We’ll see, I suppose.”

“He hasn’t asked you yet?” Vesper was surprised. “I would have assumed he’d do that first thing.”

Blaise took a sip of his cappuccino, staring down at the table.

“I’m sorry,” Vesper immediately said with a sigh. “Me and my big mouth.”

“No, it’s not that,” Blaise said. “I was just… rather hoping as well. But he and I haven’t had a chance to talk much lately.”

“I bet he’s going to ask you soon. When I heard about it from Harry he told me the details were being sorted out, but that I should expect to be involved somehow. I think they just haven’t decided everything yet. Maybe they’re waiting to ask everyone all at once.”

“Perhaps,” said Blaise. “Though we know who Harry’s best man will be.”

“Well, yes,” Vesper agreed with a small roll of her eyes. Ron, obviously. “That’s a given.”

“I’m only saying, I thought I was a given as well.”

“You are.”

He arched a brow at her. “Confident, as usual,” he said, his smile small but warm.

It made something inside her chest glow with pleasure, a sensation she definitely shouldn’t be feeling. She hadn’t been sure how this little coffee date would go (not that it _was_ a date, she told herself over and over. She’d been clear with Blaise that she was seeing someone, and she wanted them to just be friends), but it was all rather relaxed. Perhaps too much so. Perhaps too easy. She found part of her was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Confident on your behalf, sure,” she replied.

Blaise took another sip of his drink. “So, how’s work going?”

“Really well,” Vesper said. “I really like my partner. He knows a ton, but he’s not condescending about it. I’m learning so much, even though I haven’t gotten to go into the field yet. They’re mostly having me do analysis of artifacts and paperwork, but I knew it was going to be like that at first.”

Blaise nodded. “Better to start there, don’t you think? Especially after the Green Adder attack?”

Vesper gave him a look. “Don’t start in on the safety stuff again with me, please.”

Blaise laughed sardonically. “I’m hardly that stupid. I only meant that it doesn’t surprise me that they keep new recruits out of the field, when the work can be quite dangerous. I wasn’t talking about _you_ specifically.”

She eyed him carefully, and he stared right back at her, the way he always did when he knew he was being studied.

“Still, you’d prefer I didn’t go into the field at all.”

His eyes widened innocently. “Did I say that?”

“You didn’t have to.”

He tore off a piece of his blueberry muffin and put it in his mouth, chewing while he thought that over. “Seems to me you _want_ me to say it. Why? Because you’d like a reason to tell me off or because you secretly like it?”

Vesper leaned forward, drawn in by the amused glint in his eye. “And why would I secretly like it?”

But the amusement was gone suddenly as she asked the question, and instead his entire face softened. “Because it proves how much I care about you.”

Vesper’s eyes dropped to her plate. “Blaise…”

“I can’t tell you that I care? You _know_ that I do.”

“As one friend to another?” she asked skeptically.

His lips twitched, but his gaze was steady. “No.”

She held his eyes, her heart stuttering in spite of herself. “I didn’t think so.”

“No. I imagine you know exactly how I feel.”

“In which case, we don’t need to talk about it.”

Blaise sat back in his chair. “If you don’t want to,” he said with a shrug. “If you’re not ready, I understand.”

“I thought my letter was very clear.”

“It was.”

“I’m seeing someone.”

“Declan Ross. I know.”

“So…”

“So. I’ll be patient.”

Annoyingly, Vesper found herself almost grinning. “Blaise…”

He smirked. “It’s all right. I know that tone. You don’t have to say it.”

“I don’t want you to get hurt. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Because you care about me.”

She furrowed her brow. “Yes. Of course I do.”

“As one friend to another?”

She stared at him, knowing she couldn’t answer that.

“Didn’t think so,” he said, looking about as pleased as Blaise ever allowed himself to look.

“You’re making this very difficult.”

“That’s not my intention.”

“What is your intention?”

“I thought that was obvious.”

“I mean _beyond_ the obvious,” Vesper pressed. “Why sit here with me and talk about… when you know that I’m…? Why put yourself through all this?”

Blaise leaned forward again, his expression suddenly so intense that Vesper couldn’t catch her breath. “You say that it would be better to not discuss my feelings for you, and then you go and ask me a question like that.”

Vesper looked down at the table again. “You’re right,” she said. She ran a hand across her forehead and through her hair, knowing the truth. Part of her wanted to hear it, all the things Blaise wanted to say. Which really wasn’t fair. Not to Blaise, or Declan, or herself.

“I’m sorry,” Blaise said softly, and she looked at him again. “I honestly wasn’t… when I asked for this meeting, I honestly just wanted to see you. I’m not trying to make things difficult, not on purpose. I’ll stop.”

Vesper closed her eyes. Sometimes Blaise’s goodness made her ache, almost to the point where it was unbearable. “I missed you,” she managed. “I want you to be a part of my life. I meant that. But there are lines we can’t cross.”

“I understand,” he said.

Vesper looked at him some more, and decided it really did seem like he understood. She nodded, then checked her watch. “I have to go to work.”

Blaise sighed. “As do I.”

They both stood, gathering their things from the café table where they’d enjoyed their light breakfast.

“Thank for you for seeing me,” Blaise said.

“I wanted to,” she replied.

Blaise opened his arms and she came willingly, folding into him in that natural way she always could. It was a bit dangerous, this kind of touch, with his heart beating against her neck and his lips just grazing her temple. But she did it anyway.

“So that means I can see you again sometime soon?”

She pulled away. “I’d like that.”

He let out a breath. “Good. I’ll owl you.”

She nodded again and pulled away completely, and with that they parted ways.

She walked to the Ministry, as it was only a few blocks and she wanted some time to exorcise her guilt.

She hadn’t done anything wrong. She knew that. She’d been clear; she’d drawn boundaries, and she’d stuck to them. And there was nothing wrong with being friends with an ex, even if you were seeing someone else.

No, she hadn’t _done_ anything wrong at all. What she had _felt_ , on the other hand…

Giddy, lightheaded, warm all through her insides. She still had feelings for Blaise, that much was clear.

But she knew that going in. She knew it when she started dating Declan. So why was she choosing to feel guilty now? Because she was spending time with Blaise again? Because she knew now that he was still in love with her and aiming for them to get back together? Maybe. Though if she never acted on her feelings, never did anything untoward with Blaise, then what difference did it make?

She arrived at the Ministry’s employee entrance with only a fraction of her guilt truly eased. As she entered the bathroom stall and prepared to flush herself in (never the most pleasant of experiences; she greatly preferred the floo), she mentally prepared herself for work and shed the last remnants of her time with Blaise. She didn’t need that distraction.

But such thoughts returned when she entered the atrium and saw Declan across the way, waiting for her. He had two large paper cups in hand and smiled at her as she approached, offering her one.

“Coffee,” he said. “Dark roast, with a dash of milk.”

She managed a soft smile, but guilt was tightening her throat like a vice. She swallowed.

“That’s sweet of you,” she said finally, knowing she sounded a little choked. Hardly about to mention that she’d already had her morning coffee and who she’d had it with, she took a sip.

They chatted idly as they made their way to the elevators, Vesper watching Declan’s easy grace, the warmth in his eyes as he looked at her, his trusting smile, and realized what was bothering her about the whole Blaise situation.

Declan didn’t know they were spending time together. He deserved to know, if only to reassure him that it wasn’t about her wanting to get back together with her ex or hide something from Declan.

If her spending time with Blaise wasn’t a secret, then it would be stripped of its power, of its potential to make a mess of things. And that was precisely what needed to happen.

But now was not the time. Both of them had plenty to occupy them at their respective departments right now.

 _But soon_ , she promised herself, and him, silently. _Definitely soon._

***

“How would you like to sit in on an interrogation?”

Vesper cocked an eyebrow and looked up at her partner. “Do you even have to ask?”

He smirked. “Thought so. Come with me.”

“Now? We’re doing it now?” Vesper was aware that her voice sounded eager. She would much rather watch Mac question someone than do what she had been doing for the past week, which was cataloguing and analyzing artifacts obtained in the department’s most recent raid.

“No time like the present.”

Vesper followed him out of the office towards the elevators. “Who are you interrogating?”

“His name is Edmund Troyer. We just arrested him on possession, but in truth we wanted to bring him in because he has affiliations with the Fearon smuggling ring. It’s the best lead we’ve had in a while, so we need to do this one right. He's already been stewing for hours. Hopefully, if he's tired, hungry, anxious about what's going to happen to him... Well, with any luck, this will be a quick one. But we'll see.”

Vesper nodded. She didn't much care if this was a "quick one" or if it took hours more; she was just excited to have the experience.

They got off the elevator on the next floor up, where most of the Auror Corps offices and all the interview rooms were located. Aurors were bustling about the halls, discussing cases or intent on getting somewhere quickly. This was normal, but even so it seemed to Vesper that there was a tension in the buzzing activity that wasn’t there before the Green Adder attack. Everyone was just a bit more on edge.

Vesper hadn’t been privy to the interrogations of the captured Green Adders or what information those interviews had gleaned, but she knew that Robards and the Senior Aurors from the Organized Crime department were working away diligently on the case behind closed doors. It was the talk of the office since the attack, and rumors abounded about what the gang of former Death Eaters might be up to and how the Aurors were going to stop them.

“You’re just an observer today,” McInerney said, pulling her focus back to him. “So let me do the talking. Just sit and watch, and be careful to keep your face as blank as possible.”

“I understand,” Vesper said.

When they entered the interview room Edmund Troyer was sitting there, waiting for them. He looked sickly, pale, with sunken eyes and a light sheen of sweat on his brow. There were heavy lines set around his mouth and on his forehead, like grooves etched into wet clay. He wasn’t that old, perhaps in his thirties, and he might have been handsome, Vesper thought, in some other life, one where stress hadn’t stolen all the vibrancy from his face.

But this was not that life, and he watched them enter with dark, wary eyes. They sat down across from him.

“Mr. Troyer, I’m Auror McInerney, and this is my partner, Auror Kemp. I trust you know why you’re here?”

The man only looked at him. Mac flipped through some papers.

“You were found in possession of a number of Class A and B illegal artifacts, which all told will give you quite the hefty prison sentence, especially if you made the artifacts yourself with intent to distribute.” The Auror cocked his head. “But that doesn't seem... _quite_ right to me, actually.”

Troyer’s gaze dropped to the table, and still he said nothing.

“Because we also found a number of _raw_ materials in your possession,” Mac went on. “Jade, obsidian, acromantula venom, crushed fairy wings, dragon scales… All materials that are most commonly used in the creation of magical artifacts. Now, in the eyes of some, this would make you seem even more guilty, but it makes me wonder. If you were the one making all these artifacts, why would you carry the raw materials around with you?” He watched Troyer carefully a moment while the man shifted in his chair. “You wouldn’t. As far as I’m concerned, you would only be carrying these goods if your intention was to sell them as well, perhaps to the person _making_ these artifacts in the first place? That’s what you are, aren’t you, Edmund? Just a fence. Just a distributor, rather than a manufacturer. We can work with that, if you’re willing to cooperate. Distribution carries a far lesser penalty than creation of the artifacts. You know that.”

Troyer snorted. “If you’ve got it all figured out,” he said in a scratchy voice, “then just charge me with the distribution. What do you need me for?”

Mac smirked. “You know that’s not how this works. You’re not that stupid.” He leaned forward. “From the outside this is an open and shut case. I imagine, once all the evidence is presented, the trial will go very quickly, and you will find yourself chucked into Azkaban without promise of release for a very long time. Do you want that?”

The smuggler reverted to silence again, and Vesper watched, wondering why he wasn’t jumping at the chance to give the Aurors what they wanted.

“You know we’re not out for you, Edmund. We want the inner circle. We want the manufacturers. You know who they are. You give them to me, right now, and I’ll see to it you barely spend any time in Azkaban.”

Troyer fidgeted with his fingers, but his face was resolute. Mac snuck a glance at Vesper, and she raised her eyebrows in a question. She saw him shrug, almost imperceptibly. He didn’t know what was holding Troyer back either.

“What are you worried about, Edmund? Retaliation? We can protect you.”

Troyer's shoulders merely slumped, and he said nothing, his eyes on the table.

“Not retaliation, then,” Mac said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. “What, then? Why sacrifice yourself for them, when they don’t give a damn about you?” He watched Troyer’s mouth tighten, and Vesper watched both of them, her eyes flitting back and forth between the two wizards, trying to take in everything she could.

“Now _that's_ interesting,” Mac said, as if he’d had a revelation. “You think they do give a damn about you. You believe they _care_ about what happens to you." Troyer's hands clenched around his biceps, nails digging into the flesh. "I'd say that's a bit naive, but maybe you're right. Because _you_ care about what happens to _them,_ don't you?” Troyer swallowed, the rest of him unmoving. “Is this some kind of family operation you’re running then?”

There was nothing, only the quiet of the room and the stillness of the three people sitting inside it.

“Not quite,” Mac mused, and Vesper wondered what he had seen that made him say that. “That isn’t quite it, is it? It’s not… _family_. Friends, then. Old friends, loyal friends." There was another tense silence. "Or perhaps… a lover?”

Troyer’s eyes flicked to McInerney’s before looking quickly away. The Auror grinned.

“Well, there you have it, then. Now all we need is a name.” He paused. "Of course, you're not going to give that up, are you Edmund?" Troyer didn't reply, which was an answer in and of itself. "The sex must be really good, if it's made you this stupid," he said, and Troyer's mouth twisted in anger, his glare suddenly hot enough to set the table on fire. But Mac merely chuckled, turning to Vesper. “Well, that's confirmation if I ever saw it," he told her cheerfully. "Next line of inquiry, we find evidence of who this lover might be. Shouldn’t be too difficult, given we have full access to Mr. Troyer’s home _and_ place of business.” He stood. “Come on, Kemp, let’s get to work.”

“Wait,” Troyer exclaimed, sounding desperate. “You have it all wrong. It was me. I did it. I made those artifacts and tried to sell them. There isn’t anyone else.”

Mac smirked at him. “Nice try, Mr. Troyer. Too little, too late, though. We have what we came for.” He gathered his papers. “Another Auror will be in shortly to take you back to your holding cell. You should expect to be formally charged within the next twenty-four hours. Have a nice life.”

He made to leave and Vesper followed him, and all the while Troyer called after them, telling them to come back and that he had more to tell them.

“That was incredible,” Vesper gushed as she hurried to keep with her partner. She was still reeling from the fact that they'd barely spent ten minutes in there. “How did you figure it out so quickly? He barely said anything.”

“Exactly,” Mac replied, leading them down the hall towards the elevators. “That was telling on its own. In those circumstances, where we had him dead to rights and talking could only help him, there were only a select few reasons he would choose to remain silent. He was obviously afraid of what he might slip up and say. The question was, why?”

“And you figured out the rest just by watching his body language?”

“And by asking the right questions, and making some logical leaps, yes.”

Vesper nodded, taking that in. “We didn’t talk a lot about that when we learned how to do interviews in training. It was mostly how to keep them off-balance, trick them into giving themselves away, and how to tell if someone is lying.”

Mac nodded. “Well, you can only cover so much, and you have to learn how to interview witnesses as well as suspects, and those require different approaches as well. The truth is, you have to approach each interview a bit differently, depending on the person and the circumstances. You have to know how to improvise. The same thing doesn’t work with everyone. You also have to stay focused on what information you're looking for. In this case, we didn't care about getting a confession as much as we cared about getting a new lead.”

“Right,” Vesper said, thinking of how exciting it would be when she would get to try it firsthand. “So, now you’re going to find this lover and use him or her to connect you to the rest of the inner circle?”

“Well, _we_ are, if you’re up for it.”

Vesper’s face brightened. “You mean…?”

“How about a little field experience, Auror Kemp? I want to check out Troyer’s home first. I think we’re more likely to find something useful there. You up for coming along?”

Vesper was all out grinning now. “Yes. Absolutely.”

***

Declan clunked his chinese takeout container onto the coffee table and flopped back against Vesper’s living room sofa with a groan.

“I’m absolutely stuffed.”

Vesper grinned. “Lightweight,” she said, taking another bite of chow mein.

He snuck a glance at her container, seeing that it was almost empty.

“That, plus spring rolls, soup, _and_ rice?” he said. “You are truly a bottomless pit. Where does it all go?”

Vesper flexed one of her biceps and then kissed it, making Declan roll his eyes. “I’m all muscle, baby,” she said. “That means I need a lot of fuel.”

“It would appear so.”

“Speaking of which…” She pointed her chopsticks at Declan’s half-full box of General Tso’s. “Are you really not gonna eat that, because I would totally finish that for you.”

Declan looked on the verge of gaping incredulously, but instead he gave her a begrudgingly affectionate smile and handed her the box.

“Thanks. I was almost out.”

“You are something else.”

“Mm. I know,” she replied, popping a piece of chicken in her mouth.

“So are we going to watch something? Or did you want to tell me more about this interrogation?”

Vesper thought about it. “I’ve told you pretty much everything,” she said. She had talked his ear off about it when he’d first arrived with the food and they’d settled into their dinner, but now she felt like moving on. “Let’s watch something. What are you in the mood for?”

“So long as it’s not a romantic comedy, I’ll be fine with it.”

Now it was Vesper’s turn to roll her eyes. “Why are men always dissing movies with romance? Is liking them not manly enough, or something?”

“It has nothing to do with manliness. It’s just that they’re never good.”

“That’s not true.”

“Name one good one. One you think I would actually like.”

“ _When Harry Met Sally._ ”

“Nope. Hated it.”

“ _Pretty Woman._ ”

“No way.”

“ _Sleepless in Seattle.”_

“Ugh. No. They fall in love before they even _meet_ in that film. It makes no sense.”

Vesper huffed. “This is very disheartening.” Declan, it turned out, was a bit of a snob when it came to movies. But she knew there had to be _something_ about him to make him less than perfect, so in a way discovering this was a relief. But it made it annoying to pick out movies to watch with him.

“I told you. It’s not that I refuse to watch the films, assuming I won’t like them. I _know_ I don’t like them.”

Vesper considered that. “You must have at least liked _The Princess Bride._ ”

He stared at her blankly. “What in Merlin’s name is _The Princess Bride_?”

She gaped openly. “You’ve never seen it?”

“No. But it sounds awful.”

“You can’t judge it by the title. It’s brilliant.” She jumped up from her seat. “We have to watch it.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“You’ll love it, trust me,” she insisted. “It’s hilarious. And it has fighting and action and Rodents of Unusual Size…”

“What _are_ you on about?”

“You’ll understand when you see it.”

He sighed, seeming to finally accept defeat. “Very well. It’s not like it matters anyway, as I was planning to be snogging you through most of it.”

Vesper grinned. “Maybe. But I’ll bet you’ll be invested enough to want to actually watch. It might surprise you.”

“We’ll see,” he said, giving her a devilish smirk. “I hardly think most things are nearly as interesting as you.”

Vesper turned back to her DVD collection, still seeking out what she was looking for, but also so she didn’t have to answer. When Declan said things like that it made her feel funny, like a throbbing weight was settling in her stomach. She couldn’t tell if she liked the feeling or not.

“Here we are,” she said, finally finding it. She put it in the DVD player and settled herself back on the couch with Declan, who cozied up to her immediately.

Declan actually did stay invested through most of it, or for the most entertaining parts anyway. The less interesting ones had him nuzzling her neck, teasing her thighs with his fingers, and lightly brushing his lips along hers, when the angle was right. Vesper went with it, finding the sensations enjoyable but strange.

She still hadn’t settled completely into the physical aspect of their relationship, she could readily admit to herself. He was incredibly easy to be around, talk to, laugh with. But when it came to kissing, touching, rolling around on the couch pressed up against each other, as she could tell Declan definitely wanted to do, she just couldn’t relax, couldn’t give herself fully to it. She had her suspicions about why this was, and figured she just needed time to get used to the idea.

Which was why, when the movie finally ended and Declan sat there looking at her with hooded, hungry eyes, she found herself pushing back a little and saying, “So, what’s the verdict?”

“Surprisingly enjoyable,” Declan admitted. “You were right.”

“Good,” she said, smiling at him. “At least you have _some_ taste.”

He squeezed her waist, inching closer. “I have _very_ good taste, I’ll have you know.” He kissed her, in that soft, tender way he did when he was trying to coax her into more. His hands were on her thighs now, easing them open so he could nestle his body between them.

Vesper broke the kiss and his lips descended to her neck, giving that skin the same delicate treatment he’d given her lips. She shuddered, feeling slightly ticklish.

“There’s something I’ve been meaning to mention,” she said.

“Oh?” he asked against her collarbone.

“It’s not… a big deal really.” She pushed against his shoulders so he would look up at her, and he finally did. “But I do think it’s important that I mention it.”

He looked confused now, his eyes trained on hers.

She licked her lips nervously. “I’ve been hanging out with Blaise recently, more than I used to. We’re taking a stab at being friends.”

He blinked, absorbing that. “All right.”

“Like I said, not a big deal, strictly platonic. But it felt weird, not telling you about it. I didn’t want it to seem like some big secret.”

“Fair enough.” He appeared to be chewing over his next thought. “Were you worried I would be jealous or something?”

“No. I mean, it wouldn’t be the end of the world if you felt a little jealous; you are human, after all. But I want it to be clear that you have no reason to be.”

“All right…”

“You can trust me. I would never do anything with him, not while I’m seeing you.”

He arched a brow. “But you would if you weren’t seeing me?”

Vesper huffed. “No. That’s not what I meant. I meant I wouldn’t anyway, but especially because I’m seeing you. I’ve made it very clear to him that I want to be friends, and that nothing more than that is going to happen.”

He pulled back, his brow furrowing a little. “You made it clear to him…”

“Yes,” Vesper insisted, wondering what about that he wasn’t getting.

“So he _does_ want more?”

Vesper opened her mouth to answer but stopped herself, realizing she was on the verge of being dishonest. “Well… yes…” she said carefully. “But it’s not… He just brought up the possibility… But when I told him ‘no,’ he understood. He wasn’t pushy or anything.”

“Hm.” Declan pulled away even further. “I see.”

“Does it really make a difference what he wants or doesn’t want? Shouldn’t it only matter what _I_ want?”

Declan ran a finger over his lip, thinking about that. “Perhaps it shouldn’t make a difference. But it does.”

“Why?”

“Because…” He scratched the back of his head, not meeting her eyes. “Because you’re choosing to spend time with him even knowing his intentions. That’s pretty telling.”

Vesper crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think so. I think there are a lot of ways to interpret it.”

“You do, do you?” Declan’s voice had taken on an unfamiliar, almost snarky edge that Vesper didn’t much like.

“Yes, like that it didn’t matter to me what Blaise wanted one way or another, because all I wanted was to be friends. I decided I wouldn’t let his feelings stop me from that, not when we’re an important part of each other’s lives and have so many of the same friends. I wanted us to be able to get along and be comfortable around each other again. And one could also argue that I’m clearly not worried about being tempted to go back to him, because if I was I would still avoid him.”

The man chuckled sardonically. “’One could argue…’” he quoted. He looked at her. “But would it be the truth?”

She clenched her jaw. “Yes. I’ve had plenty of opportunities to rekindle something with him and I didn’t take any of them, so-“

“ _Plenty_ of opportunities? What kind of opportunities?”

She stared at him. “This is feeling a lot like an interrogation itself, you know. And I don’t think I deserve that.”

“And yet you’re not answering my question.”

“Because it’s not any of your business. It happened before you and I started dating.”

“What happened?”

She stared some more.

“Did you two sleep together after you broke up? Is that what you mean by ‘ _opportunities’_?”

Vesper’s hands were shaking. “You don’t have the right to ask me that.”

“That’s a yes.”

She could feel her anger flaring. “I was hurt and confused, and so was he, and I hardly think you have a right to judge. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I wasn’t judging-“

“You _are_ judging. Right now. It’s clear from your tone _and_ your body language _and_ the look on your face.”

“I see. You sit in on one interrogation and you’re an expert in human behavior now?”

“Hardly,” she growled. “You’re being so obvious any person with half a brain can see you’re pissed off at me. I just can’t figure out what for. Because Blaise and I had a couple of awkward trysts after our breakup that I put a stop to? Or because I’m spending time with him now, even though I told you about it myself and was clear that nothing was going on? Or because Blaise wants to get back together, even though that’s not my fault and I’ve been clear with him and given you no reason not to trust me? Is it any of those, or is it something else? I’d really like to know what justification you think you have for acting like such an asshole towards me right now.”

He didn’t answer immediately, and they sat in silence while he stared at the empty TV screen and considered that.

“Fine. Do you want the truth?” he said finally.

“Yes. Of course I do.”

He looked at her as if he doubted her, but he continued. “You’re holding back from me. You’re not letting this progress the way it needs to. And I can’t help but think-“ He added the last bit more loudly, to talk over Vesper’s protests. “-that Blaise Zabini has something to do with it.”

“He doesn’t.”

“So you keep insisting.”

“And yet you don’t believe me.”

“Then what _is_ your explanation for how slowly this relationship is progressing?”

“I told you it needed to move slowly.”

“Not _this_ slowly.”

“I think you’re exaggerating. I think it’s moving along just fine. We’re together all the time, what with lunch at work and hanging out every weekend, _and_ sometimes during the week. I see you more than I see anyone else in my life. You think that’s me holding back?”

“I’m not talking about time spent together.”

“Then what are you talking about?” She watched his face carefully. “Sex?”

He turned his head away, and she had her answer.

“You _are_ talking about sex.” She felt her heart start to thump painfully. “That’s what this is about? You’re pissed at me because we haven’t had sex yet?”

He turned back, scowling. “Don’t make me out to be the bad guy here. You know it’s not that I want to push you to do something you don’t want to do, but don’t think I haven’t noticed-“

“I’m just not ready yet!” she interrupted him. “Is that so horrible? I’m not saying never, I’m just saying not right now. I don’t think that’s unreasonable.”

“I understand that you’re not ready. But it is interesting that you were perfectly ready to jump into bed with Zabini even though you two were no longer together.”

Her jaw dropped. “It was a completely different situation! We were together for three and a half years before we broke up. I knew him almost as well as I knew myself. It’s not the same thing at all. And I’ll have you know that it was _months_ into our relationship before we decided to start having sex. A hell of a lot longer than you and I have been together.”

“But you did other things, right?”

“What?”

“You did other things. Snogged, fooled around, explored each other.”

“I mean… a little. Snogged, sure, but the rest…” Blaise had been pretty innocent and inexperienced back then. By the time Vesper was suggesting they have sex, they were ready, but there actually hadn’t been that much working their way up to it. Blaise had been too cautious to do anything like that. “The rest, not really.”

“Are you serious?”

“Why would I lie? You should be grateful I’m answering you at all, considering what Blaise and I did or didn’t do together is in the past and isn’t any of your business.”

“I’m trying to make a point.”

“Then by all means, please make it,” Vesper said drily.

“My point is that sex… _intimacy_ , doesn’t have to be all or nothing. I’m not saying we have to go from chaste to sleeping together in a week, or even a month. I’m not even saying we _have_ to do anything specific, really. But there is…” He chewed on his lip. “There is usually a natural progression of things. Where we cozy up on the couch and snog and let ourselves get worked up, and tease each other… even if we have to go our separate ways and relieve the tension, even if we’re not ready to take that step, and at least…” He sighed. “I’m not saying we have to have sex. I’m not even saying you have to give me a timeline for when you might be ready. But it would be nice to know you even _want_ to, not just with your words, but with… the way you are with me. That’s what I meant by you’re holding back.”

Vesper stared at him, trying to work through that. A large part of her wanted to be mad at him, wanted to accuse him of being the stereotypical sex-obsessed male.

But he wasn’t being that, not really. Vesper knew exactly what he was trying to say, even though he wasn’t doing the best job of explaining what he really meant. Maybe he didn’t really know, or was too afraid to say it aloud.

“You’re right,” she said quietly. She brought her knees up, resting her elbows on them.

Declan’s shoulders relaxed. “I’m not trying to push you, I swear. I’d just like to see you… relax a bit more. And if you need help figuring out what’s holding you back, then let’s talk about it.”

Vesper closed her eyes. She didn’t need to talk about it. She already knew. “This was a mistake,” she said. “We should have stayed friends.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Declan said, in a choked voice, “What?”

Vesper didn’t open her eyes. She couldn’t bear to look at him. “I like you so much,” she said. “I love being with you. I think, if we had never started dating, we could have been really good friends. You’re my best friend at the Ministry, even better than Ron. But I can’t…” It was hard for her to say it, because she knew it would hurt him.

The resistance to intimacy with him, the strangeness of it that she couldn’t shake. How she never wanted the talking or joking to end because she knew what came next, the thing she always tried to avoid. She didn’t spend her nights alone fantasizing about him; she didn’t linger on and admire the lines of his mouth or the shape of his body when he wasn’t looking. She didn’t feel tingling in her fingers when she touched him or a buzzing in her brain when she kissed him. And the thought of sleeping with him…

It was simple, really. She just didn’t want to.

She felt like a complete idiot. Why didn’t she pay attention to what was right in front of her? Why did she let it get this far?

“You’re breaking up with me.”

She opened her eyes to see that Declan was staring at her, his face a terrible mix of hurt and disbelief.

“I ask for a sign that you want the same things I want and instead you break up with me. Well, I guess I have my answer.”

“I’m sorry.” She could feel a lump forming in her throat, but she did all she could do swallow it down. She hardly had the right to cry in this situation.

He shook his head. “Me too.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands in front of him with his elbows on his knees. “Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed. I didn’t mean to push-“

“It’s not your fault,” Vesper said quickly. “I’m just not…” _whole_. She sighed. “…ready. Not just regarding sex. Any of it. I wasn’t ready and I just didn’t know it. It’s my fault.”

He only sat there, not looking at her or saying anything. The silence stretched on, and Vesper wondered what she _could_ say at this point. Maybe tell him she never meant to hurt him, that she did care about him? Or would that just seem empty?

“I guess I’ll be going then,” he said finally. He stood. “Thanks for dinner, and making me watch that film. I enjoyed it.”

“Declan…” She couldn’t stand the flatness of his voice or the blankness of his face, but she knew there was nothing she could do.

“I’ll see you around,” he said. “Bye.”

“Bye,” she replied softly.

She heard his footsteps fade down the hall, and the front door close, and she was alone.

She let herself cry then, not for the losing the man she had let walk out the door, but for the part of herself she had lost somewhere, the part of herself that would never have wanted him to walk out in the first place.

***

“You look tired.”

Vesper hummed. “Its not so bad.”

“Is it work?” Blaise watched her as they walked side by side, his hands in the pockets of his black wool coat.

Vesper rubbed her gloved hands together. It was a cold afternoon, just about to bleed into early evening, but she was glad to be out, walking through a park with Blaise. Being inside a Ministry office five days a week made her long regularly for fresh air, even though it was already December and the chill chapped her lips.

“Mostly.”

“Late nights with Ross as well?” Blaise’s voice was forcedly neutral.

Vesper sighed. “No, actually.”

She could feel Blaise looking at her, but she kept her gaze straight ahead, following the narrow path as it wound through the trees.

“You…?” Blaise seemed to not really know how to frame the question. “Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

“It’s a ‘for the best’ thing,” Vesper said with half a smirk. “We ended it. _I_ ended it.”

Blaise stopped walking abruptly. Vesper turned back to him.

“It’s over? You’re over?”

“Yes.”

Blaise’s face visibly softened. “Vesper…”

His hand reached for her, but she caught it halfway, knowing where this was going.

“I didn’t choose you over him,” she said. “That wasn’t what any of this was about, me trying to choose. This was about me figuring out what I need right now. And what I need right now is to be alone.” She squeezed his hand, then let it drop. “I don’t mean alone as in without friends, just… single. For a while. I knew I needed that before and I let myself have it for those first few months. But Declan just kind of showed up in my life and I thought it was some kind of sign, that it was the right time for me to… try something new. But it wasn’t. I’m not ready to date again.” She looked at him and chewed on her lip. “Not even you.”

He stared at her, and she could see that sharp mind at work, in the dark churning of his eyes. “What are you asking of me? To wait? Or do you want me to move on?”

Vesper closed her eyes. There were two answers to that question. The honest one and the generous one. She tried for a blending of the two. “Selfishly, I don’t want you to move on, because I think there’s a chance for us, down the road. But not right now. And that’s hardly fair to you, so… if you need to move on, I understand.”

He reached up to grasp her chin, and this time she didn’t stop him. “You are the most frustrating person I know.” His voice was dry as usual, but his face shone with something that might have been admiration. “But I love you, and I will do my best.”

“That’s all I could ever ask.”

He looked at her soberly, his thumb twitching as if he was about to brush it over her bottom lip. But he released her chin instead and simply nodded.

They walked the rest of the path in silence, leaning into each other’s warmth as darkness fell.


	25. Get Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, loves! Thank you for all the thoughts on the last chapter. Y'all are a little worried about Vesper, I know. More on her very soon!
> 
> But for now we return to Draco as we move into what I am dubbing the Indulgent Wedding Fluff that I have always wanted to write for these two. Be prepared for a lot of it in the Harry/Draco chapters to come. It may not be your thing, and I respect that. But if you're like me and it IS your thing, then... enjoy :)
> 
> There will be plenty of plot and angst in other storylines to balance it out too, I promise. <3

(Draco)

Blaise looked thin, Draco noted. Surprisingly so. Had it really been that long since he’d seen him, that he would notice something like that? He did the maths quickly and realized that while he had owled with the man some over the course of the autumn, he hadn’t actually laid eyes on him since Hermione’s birthday party. That was far too long.

Some things never changed, though, like the way Blaise embraced him without hesitation, like a brother, and let a hand linger on his shoulder even after he’d pulled away, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

The host appeared with menus and stared at them expectantly.

“Come,” said Blaise. “I’ve the best table in the place reserved for us.”

Of course he had. Blaise’s business connections were legendary by this point, and he seemed to know most restaurateurs and club owners in wizarding London well enough to get a table anywhere on short notice. Draco had never had much need to take advantage of this, seeing as he was the well-known partner of the Savior of the wizarding world, but it was nice to ride coattails other than Harry’s every now and then, if only for the change of scenery.

“Hungry?” Blaise asked.

“Starving, actually. I just got off a shift.”

“Perfect. Then we’ll order right away. You must try the paella. And the chorizo over potato puree.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“But we’ll begin with the fennel and manchego salad. That’s one of my favorites.”

Draco merely smiled at his friend before taking his seat at the secluded little table provided for them. They were both handed menus, but Draco hardly glanced at his, knowing Blaise would want to take the lead and do the wining and dining. Draco didn’t mind; he was simply glad Blaise had been willing to make time for him, what with the way Draco had been neglecting him these past months.

“You’re here often, I take it?”

“Often enough,” Blaise replied, skimming the menu with a critical eye, as if looking for anything out of place. “Matador is the best Spanish food in town. And I know the owner.”

“I figured.”

“I say we start with a glass of the house cava, then move onto a nice Rioja. Something… _expensive._ What do you think?”

“Whatever you say.”

Blaise laid his menu down, eyeing him. “You’re looking at me strangely.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose it’s just been a while since I’ve seen you. Too long, I’d say.”

Blaise tipped his head graciously. “You have a child now. That takes priority.”

“I’m trying to be better about balancing my priorities, actually, which includes my friends.”

“And your future husband.”

Draco couldn’t help a grin. He still really, _really_ liked the sound of those two words put together. “Yes. Most definitely him as well.”

The server came, and before he could even begin launching into his spiel on the various specials for the evening, Blaise cut him off, ordering everything they had discussed, plus another dish Draco barely caught the name of, in that precise and efficient way that Blaise did everything.

The server blinked a couple of times, then recovered, took some notes, and then abruptly left, as if trying to match Blaise’s efficiency with his own.

Draco caught his friend’s eye and Blaise shrugged one shoulder, like a half-apology. Draco cleared his throat and took a sip of his water.

“Speaking of my upcoming wedding,” he said. “I was hoping to talk to you about it.”

“You were, were you?” His voice was neutral, but Draco caught the way Blaise’s posture shifted forward, anticipating what came next.

“Yes. I was actually rather hoping you would do me the honor of standing up with me, of being my best man.”

The responding smile was small, but it spoke volumes. “I would consider it a privilege,” the man said softly.

“Good,” Draco said, relieved. He had believed Blaise would say yes, but part of him had worried that he’d strained their friendship too much recently to have the right to ask it. He was glad that didn’t appear to be the case. “The duties are not very involved. My mother is making all the plans, with some input from Molly Weasley, and me and Harry, of course. And we aren’t throwing an engagement party or a stag night, or anything of that sort, so you won’t have to worry about that.”

“All right.”

“Mostly you just need to make sure you have the necessary suit and tie and keep me from going insane on the actual day.”

“Do you really think you’ll be in any danger of that? It’s not as if you have any doubts about the nuptials.”

“True,” Draco agreed. “But my mother might drive me barmy, by the end. Or she’ll drive Harry barmy, which he’ll pass along to me.”

Blaise chuckled. “Very well. I shall do my best.”

“I know you will.”

“I suppose I’ll have Weasley as a counterpart, then?”

“Undoubtedly.” Harry and Draco had yet to actually discuss the makeup of the wedding party, but some things were guaranteed. Harry wouldn’t dare to have anyone but Ron Weasley as his best man, nor would he want to. “The only thing stopping him would be some kind of problem with his injury, but given how closely he’s been following his Healers’ orders, I don’t think that’s likely.”

“I thought as much.”

“Is that going to be a problem?” Ron Weasley was not exactly Blaise’s favorite person, nor vice versa. They'd come a long way in four years, however; they always managed to be civil, though Draco doubted they would ever reach the point where they considered themselves "friends."

“It will be fine. Although if you could find some way to avoid us having to escort each other arm in arm down the aisle, that would be appreciated.”

Draco stared at his friend, wondering if he was being serious or making a joke. Sometimes Draco could tell, but not always.

“It’s not a homophobic thing, you understand,” the man said quickly, seeming to misinterpret Draco’s blank look. “It’s not that he’s a man, I just would rather-“

Draco started laughing, and couldn’t stop, especially when he caught glimpse of the bemused expression on Blaise’s face. When the server came with their bubbling glasses of cava he made himself calm down, taking a sip of the delightful, crisp liquid before working to catch his breath.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to laugh at you.”

“That’s all right, I suppose,” Blaise said patiently.

“I would never accuse you of being homophobic, you know. Not in a million years. It was just… the thought of you…“ He giggled. “And Ron…” He snorted. “And you were being serious. You honestly thought I would…” He got control of his laughter again. “I would never do that to you, Blaise, making you walk down the aisle with Ron Weasley of all people. We’ll sort something out. We haven’t even decided on the procession yet but I’ll make sure you don’t have to…” He started laughing again. “Sorry. Sorry. I just can’t get the image out of my head now you’ve put it there.”

Blaise waited silently for Draco’s giggling to die down, and Draco was worried for a moment that he’d truly annoyed him, which was enough to finally sober him up. But when he caught sight of Blaise looking at him indulgently, a warm glint in his dark eyes, he felt better.

Their first dish was served, and their attention turned to that for a little while as they dug in. Then Blaise asked after Draco’s mother, curious about her reaction to news of the engagement.

Narcissa had been openly thrilled, actually. Draco had expected a pleased smile and an immediate getting down to the business of arranging it all. But his mother had laughed delightedly at first, and then actually become rather weepy, embracing and kissing Draco and Harry both and cradling their faces maternally while she told them how happy and proud she was. It was the most overt display of love Draco had ever seen her give Harry, and it warmed him, though Harry had clearly been a bit overwhelmed, or perhaps merely deeply moved. It was hard to tell in the moment, and he didn’t comment on it afterwards.

Unsurprisingly, however, the woman had leapt into action when she heard that the wedding was going to be only a few weeks after Christmas, leaving her not even two months to prepare. She hadn’t even really calmed down when Draco told her that they could have the wedding at the manor and she could decorate however she liked. She had merely looked at him with sharp blue eyes and reminded him that it would be _January_ , and the gardens wouldn’t be in bloom, and she was going to have to set about placing quite a few climate-altering charms immediately and hope that their slow-acting magic was strong enough to create what they needed for a lovely and fragrant outdoor ceremony in such a short time.

Draco had nearly told her that there was no need to have the wedding in the gardens, and that the arboretum or the conservatory would serve just as well, but he soon realized that arguing would be futile. Once his mother had an idea in her head, it was very difficult to remove it. And Draco suspected that the woman had envisioned Harry and Draco getting married in the rose garden for quite some time. So one way or another, it was going to happen.

Draco told Blaise all this as they ate and drank, and Blaise hummed and smiled sympathetically. Eventually Draco tired of talking only of himself and the wedding, and they went on to talk about Blaise’s most recent business venture instead.

Draco watched him, half listening to his friend’s words and half wondering what it was that made him seem off, not quite himself.

“This food really is lovely,” Draco told him as they finished up the last of the paella, licking their lips. “Good choice.”

“Yes, I quite like it,” Blaise agreed in that mild away of his.

“Nice to see you eating your fill,” Draco ventured.

Blaise looked at him in pure confusion, clearly not understanding what Draco meant.

“You look a bit thin,” Draco clarified.

Blaise swirled the last few sips of wine around in his glass, watching it as though fascinated. “Do I?”

“Yes. You hadn’t noticed?”

“Not especially.”

“Is everything all right?” There had been a time, in their younger days, when Draco wouldn’t have had to ask. Blaise would have simply told him outright. Draco contemplated what needed to be done to get their friendship back to that place as he waited for Blaise to answer.

“How much do you know,” Blaise said finally, still not looking at him, “about what’s been going on between myself and Vesper?”

Draco thought about it. “Not much. I know you wrote her a letter a while ago, about… possibly reconciling, and that she hadn’t written back.”

“She wrote back,” Blaise said flatly.

“What did she say?” Draco almost felt as though he didn’t need to ask, given that if she had returned his sentiments he surely would have heard about it before now, from at least one if not both of them.

Blaise sighed. “She thanked me for my letter and said she was very moved by it. She wants us to be a part of each other's lives. But she also said she needed time, and that she was seeing someone else and it was important that our spending time together – as friends – didn’t interfere with that.”

“Declan Ross,” Draco said. “That’s the man, right?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t realize it had gotten serious. I thought it was quite casual.”

“I don’t think it was serious, considering she broke up with him.”

Draco blinked, racing to catch up. “I hadn’t heard. When was this?”

“Only a few days ago.”

“Ah.” He hadn’t seen Vesper in a while either, though he’d been getting updates from Harry. But it was likely Harry also hadn’t heard yet, if it happened so recently. “Well…” He thought about all that Blaise had just told him. “I’m not sure I follow.”

Blaise sighed again. “Nor do I.”

“She broke up with Ross…”

“Yes.”

“So… he’s not in the way anymore.”

Blaise shrugged. “Apparently it doesn’t matter. She didn’t break up with him _for_ me. She made that very clear. She told me she’s not ready to rekindle things with me yet, though she has hope for the future. But right now she wants to be alone.”

Draco deflated a little. “Oh.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

He eyed his friend across the table. “What are you going to do?”

“What _can_ I do, Draco? What is there, except to wait?”

“Move on?” Draco suggested gently. “Finally let her go? I’m not saying you two weren’t good together, but… hasn’t this dragged on long enough? Don’t you deserve a chance at happiness _now_?”

Blaise shook his head. “She is my happiness. Or perhaps not right now, but she was. She will be again.”

Draco bit back a sigh. Blaise’s hopelessly romantic side had always been very difficult to reason with. “That way of thinking puts a lot of limitations on yourself, you know. Not to mention a lot of pressure on her.”

“That’s not my intention,” said Blaise. “But it’s the truth. It simply… _is._ ”

“There are lots of ways to look at it.”

“What if it were you and Harry?” Blaise asked him, the smallest spark of challenge in his voice. “If you were going through a rough patch, and Harry told you he needed space but that there was definite hope for the future, wouldn’t you wait for him to come back to you?”

Draco hesitated, though not because he didn’t already know his answer. Rather he was reeling a bit from the hypothetical scenario Blaise had just painted for him. It was too upsetting for him to want to contemplate, and that made him realize something, realize exactly what Blaise might be going through. Somehow, even after seeing his two friends together for over three years and how much they loved each other, he had never for a moment believed it possible that Blaise loved Vesper as much as Draco loved Harry.

But it _was_ possible. Why wouldn’t it be? Draco did not have a monopoly on fully committed, unconditional love. Blaise had every right to it too, which meant that what the man had been going through for the past few months must have been incredibly painful, and Draco hadn’t even realized how much so.

“I would wait,” he said softly. “If there was any hope at all, I would wait.”

“I know you would. And so will I.”

Draco nodded in acknowledgement, in understanding. A large part of him was terrified for his friend, that he would get his heart broken all over again, or waste away waiting for something that would never come to pass.

But that fear didn’t help Blaise. The only thing he could do was listen now, and respect his wishes, and be there – really _be_ there, from now on – if and when it all fell apart.

***

He was tipsy, warm, and full of food when he arrived home. The house was quiet, as he knew it would be. It was nearly eleven, and Harry had undoubtedly put Teddy to bed at eight as usual then crawled into bed himself not long after, as he had work in the morning. Much of the burden was eased with Pipsy to help out, but Harry still did so much, and needed his rest.

So Draco kept quiet as he entered their master suite, tip-toeing his way into the bathroom to clean his teeth and prepare for bed. When he came back into the bedroom and lifted the covers, though, Harry stirred.

“There you are,” he said sleepily.

“Here I am.” Draco slid into bed, wearing nothing but his underwear, and was happy to find Harry shirtless as well. He immediately closed the distance between them, curling into the warmth surrounding Harry’s body. Harry draped an arm around him, encouraging the closeness.

“How’s Blaise?”

“He’s doing… all right,” Draco said, glossing over the details for now. He would give Harry a full report in the morning. “He agreed to be my best man.”

“Oh, good,” said Harry. “I’m glad.” He yawned, and Draco chuckled.

“Sleep, love,” he said. “We’ll talk more about it in the morning.”

Harry agreed with a long, low hum. Draco smiled, and kissed him on the temple, and stroked fingers through his hair until he heard his lover’s breathing even out.

***

The morning was chaos, as it usually was on weekdays, and there was little time for conversation. Or rather, there was little conversation that wasn’t dominated by Teddy, who had been quite energetic and talkative since the afternoon he spent with his grandmother and the news of Harry and Draco’s engagement that followed.

Draco was glad to see this side of Teddy again, although he was still watching closely for when that other side reared its head, the one that made Teddy go quiet and turn inward. Draco knew that while his little cousin was excited that Draco and Harry were tying the knot and that they would be a “proper” family soon, there were still a lot of confusing emotions that could surround it, especially surrounding Andromeda and the fact that she decided she would officially give up legal guardianship of Teddy.

That left Draco and Harry free to adopt Teddy as their own and have full custody of him, something they’d explained to Teddy already. The boy had taken it in stride, as he did many things, but Draco had to wonder how much of it really made sense to him, and if he really understood, or even cared, what it meant.

But he reminded himself not to worry so much as he sat across the table from Teddy, watching him eat his breakfast and chat away to Pipsy. If confusion or sadness came, then they came, and they would deal with it. But there was so much to celebrate as well that it was silly, really, to do so much worrying.

 _We’re going to be a real family. Officially, legally._ It made him giddy every time he thought about it.

He caught Harry’s eye across the table and had to suppress a grin at the heat in that stare. They both had been rather giddy about the engagement since it happened, one result being that they had a hard time keeping their hands off each other.

It was soon time for Harry and Teddy to head out the door, and Teddy ran off to put his shoes on, followed closely by an anxious Pipsy. The elf had taken to pestering Teddy about putting on the proper outerwear to go outside, now that winter was nearly upon them.

“I’ll be home a bit after five,” Harry said to Draco, giving him a light kiss.

Draco grabbed Harry by the hip and deepened the kiss, making Harry hum happily. “Don’t forget we have to finish those preliminary wedding plans tonight,” he reminded his fiancé as he pulled away. “I promised Mother I’d send them off to her so she can start the planning.”

“ _Start_ the planning,” Harry teased good-naturedly. “That woman started planning this wedding about three years ago, I think.”

Draco rolled his eyes, though he knew Harry was right. “You know what I mean,” he said. “We’ve got some decisions to make.”

“I know. And we’ll make them. We at least already both have a best man, right?”

“True,” Draco agreed, smiling that Harry remembered that, given that he was half asleep when Draco told him about Blaise the night before.

“You’ll have to tell me how the dinner went later,” Harry said. “I could tell there’s a story there.”

“A bit of one,” said Draco. Teddy was back in the kitchen and ready to go. He pecked Harry on the lips once more. “Later.”

***

As Draco entered within the wards of Teddy’s school he was struck by what a difference a couple of weeks could make. It wasn’t that long ago that he’d had that unpleasant confrontation with Matilda Sturgis at this very gate.

This time, though, he was greeted warmly by Ms. Shreever, who immediately scratched Teddy off her collection list and then chatted with him a bit while Teddy finished playing with his friends. After that he was flagged down by Clarissa Goldstein, who appeared to want a friendly chat as well.

“Afternoon, Draco,” she said. “I hear congratulations are in order. Toby told me. Apparently Teddy’s been talking about it nonstop.”

Draco grinned at Toby’s curvy, strawberry blonde mum. He’d rather liked Clarissa from the moment he met her. She had deep, friendly blue eyes and a charming Edinburgh accent, and had shown herself to be both down to earth and generous, traits she had clearly passed down to her son. Draco didn’t know Toby’s father, Archie, all that well, since he worked long hours at the Ministry, but from what he could gather they were good, loving parents.

“Yes, Teddy’s quite excited,” he said. “Although now it’s got him thinking again about how he wants to marry Toby so they can live together.”

“Is _that_ why?” Clarissa said with a laugh. “I was wondering what had gotten that idea into their heads.”

“I think that was mostly Teddy’s doing, I’m afraid,” Draco said ruefully.

“Oh, no bother. I think it’s rather sweet. Maybe they really will grow up and fall in love someday.”

“That would be something. Though I’m in no hurry for Teddy to grow up. I quite like this age.”

“So do I.”

“How are you all getting on?”

“Very well.” She smiled a secret smile. “We’ve got some exciting news of our own as well, actually. I’m pregnant.”

Draco’s face brightened. “Really? That’s wonderful! How far along are you?”

“Just entered my second trimester, which is why we’ve started telling people. I wanted to wait the first few months, of course. We just told Toby yesterday, actually. It made him ask all sorts of questions about where babies come from. I have to admit I wasn’t entirely prepared for that, although I should have been.”

Draco grimaced sympathetically. Yes, that would be difficult to explain to a child Toby and Teddy’s age. He wondered if Toby was going to pass along his curiosity to Teddy and if he and Harry were going to be getting some interesting questions tonight.

“Is Toby excited to be a big brother?”

“I think so. But I don’t think it’s entirely sunk in yet. Probably won’t until the baby is born. It will be an adjustment, but we’ll make it work.”

“Sure. Who’s your prenatal Healer, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“Oh, she’s wonderful. Same one we had with Toby. Name’s Adisa Iwu, at St. Mungo’s.” She raised her eyebrows. “Come to think of it, you probably know her!”

Draco smiled. “I do. She’s my mentor.”

“I didn’t realize you were going into prenatal Healing.”

“And pediatrics,” Draco said, aware of the pride in his voice. “Nothing’s official yet. I’m only second year. But that’s the plan.”

“That’s wonderful. And I imagine Healer Iwu is a very good teacher.”

“The best,” Draco agreed.

Teddy and Toby appeared at the gate together. They had been taking advantage of the adults talking and had enjoyed some extra time to play, but now it seemed as though they were each ready to go home. Teddy stared up at his cousin with shining silver eyes as he walked through the gate and put his hand immediately in Draco’s.

“Listen,” Draco said to Clarissa as he gave Teddy’s hand a squeeze. “I know the boys like spending time together, but you and Archie should come visit as well. Things are a bit hectic at the moment, with the holidays and then the wedding and honeymoon coming up, but after that you should come for dinner at our place.”

Clarissa looked flattered and genuinely pleased at the invitation. “That would be lovely,” she said. “Perhaps when you return from your honeymoon.”

“Perfect,” said Draco.

They said their goodbyes, and Draco walked Teddy past the wards to Apparate.

“Why did you invite Toby’s mum and dad for dinner?” Teddy asked him, though he sounded more curious than upset.

“Because Harry and I both like Toby’s parents, and grown ups need friends too.”

“Oh,” said Teddy, as though this hadn’t occurred to him. “But you have lots of friends already.”

“Sure,” said Draco. “But sometimes it’s nice to make new ones, don’t you think?”

Teddy smiled up at him. “Yes, that’s true.”

***

When Harry arrived home from work that evening Pipsy was already in the process of cooking dinner, and Draco and Teddy were in the sitting room together. Normally Draco would be helping his little cousin with a puzzle, but this time he’d left Teddy to do one on his own while he sat on the sofa nearby and looked over the letter his mother had sent him, requesting specific information about the wedding party and the ceremony.

Harry entered the room and exchanged a greeting and kiss with each of them, then went to join Teddy on the floor. Teddy shifted to sit in his lap, and they started working on the puzzle together.

“How was work?” Draco asked him.

“Fine. I went by the afterschool program today. It’s been the first time in a while that I’ve seen it firsthand, but it’s doing well. Andrea, one of the other people in my department, has been keeping a good eye on it for me.”

“That’s good to hear,” Draco said.

“How was your day?”

“Lovely. I got some research done, and then got to chat with Clarissa Goldstein for a bit when I went to pick up Teddy.”

“Draco said Toby’s mum and dad should come for dinner,” Teddy chimed in.

“Some time,” Draco clarified as Harry looked at him with a question on his face. “Probably after the wedding. Thought it might be nice to get to know them better.”

“That’s a great idea.”

“I thought so too.”

They were quiet for a few minutes while Harry murmured to Teddy about his puzzle and Draco watched him, enjoying the scene but also a bit impatient to get a response to his mother soon.

“Harry,” he said finally. The man looked up at him, and Draco brandished the parchment in his hand. “We really do have to get some of this wedding stuff finalized.”

“I know,” Harry said with a sigh. He kissed Teddy on the head and gently removed the boy from his lap. Teddy didn’t seem much fazed and simply focused on the task in front of him as Harry stood and joined Draco on the sofa. “I’m just no good at making decisions about this sort of thing, and I haven’t had much time to think about it.”

Draco resisted the urge to point out that it was Harry who had insisted they get married as soon as possible, deciding to focus on being more productive. There were some things Harry had likely already decided, despite his denial. “You don’t know who you want to have standing up with you on the day?”

“No, I know _that_ , of course,” Harry argued. “It’s all the rest. How the ceremony should go and everything. I’ve never been to a gay wedding before. I’ve no idea how it differs from a heterosexual one.”

“I think we can make it be whatever we want,” Draco said. “We can follow a guideline, if that helps, but adjust it.”

“There aren’t specific… you know, _pureblood_ sort of things we have to include? There aren’t specific rules?”

Draco fought a smile at the disdain he could hear underlying Harry’s tone, knowing it came more from Harry’s general irreverence for tradition than any anti-pureblood sentiments. “There are some things I’d _like_ to include, if you’re open to it,” he said. “But I don’t care as much about the order of the procession as much as I do about the words that are spoken during the ceremony and the words we say to each other.”

“I had rather thought we would write our own vows,” Harry said with a small frown, and Draco smiled. Harry _did_ have opinions about all this, even if he wasn’t always willing to admit it.

“I’m open to that. But I’m also going to look into the possibility having some portion of what we say be more… traditional. Just a small portion, maybe at the moment we exchange rings or something.” He looked at Harry, waiting for his slow nod before continuing. “And there are some readings that are traditionally excerpted from by the officiant in Malfoy weddings, so I thought we might have some of that. I need to do more research and see what I find. Then I’ll bring it to you and we can decide what we like together.”

Harry nodded again. “That suits me.”

“As for the procession… well, the normal model is for one partner to wait at the altar while the other gets walked down the aisle, preceded by the other members of the wedding party.” He was watching Harry carefully and had to laugh at the scowl on his face. “But I take it you’re not so game for that.”

“To me that seems suited for when you have a bride and a groom. There’s not going to be a bride in this wedding.”

“I hope not,” said Draco with a grin. “Or this really isn’t what I thought I was signing up for.”

Harry’s mouth twitched. “The point is, I don’t want to choose which one of us stands at the altar and which one of us gets walked down. It would be perfectly arbitrary to us and everyone else would read something into it about who’s ‘the man’ and who’s ‘the woman’ in the relationship, and that just… irritates me.”

“It’s an excellent point,” Draco said. “But does that mean neither of us walk down the aisle? We have to get to the altar somehow, and it feels strange to think that we’ll start the ceremony with us standing there, ready to go, and watching the wedding party walk down the aisle without us.”

“Why don’t we both walk down, then?”

“Together?”

Harry thought about that. “We could do that. Or we could be escorted by our mums, you by yours and me by Molly.”

Draco nodded, writing that down. “My mother would like that, being included.”

“So would Molly.”

“Good then. Who will walk down first?”

Harry shrugged. “I’m not bothered about it either way, to be honest. Whatever you think.”

“Very well.” That could be decided later, anyway. “Now we can talk wedding party.” Draco made the relevant headings on his parchment: one for Harry and one for himself. “Blaise is my best man, as you know.”

“And Ron’s mine.”

“Of course. And I’m sure you’ll want Hermione on your side, and I’ll have Pansy.”

“Naturally. I also want Vesper.”

Draco frowned at him, and realized he might almost be pouting. “How come you get Vesper?”

“Because she was my friend first,” Harry said, looking a little amused.

“By about five minutes,” Draco grumbled.

“A few months, actually,” Harry said. “And I’m the reason you’re friends with her at all. If it weren’t for my apprenticeship…”

Draco sighed dramatically, though in truth it didn’t bother him so much. “Very well. I wanted Hannah anyway.”

“Good. Who else?”

“Well, those were the most important ones for me…” Draco said, looking at the list. “But it would please Pansy to have Theo involved as well. And I wouldn’t mind having a fourth.”

“That suits me. I’ll have Neville on my side, then, and that will balance it out.”

Draco gave him a look he was sure was dark, but he couldn’t help it. He saw Harry roll his eyes.

“You’ve got to start accepting that Neville is going to be a part of our lives. He’s my good friend and the boyfriend of one of your good friends. You’ve just got to live with it.”

“Yes, I know, but in our wedding?”

“Hannah will be happy that he’s involved,” Harry argued.

“So long as they’re still together by that point. Otherwise it will just be awkward.”

“Do you honestly believe they’re going to break up? Or is that just wishful thinking on your part?”

Draco sighed. “I don’t know.” Hannah had reported to him that she had taken his and Pansy’s advice and had the most open, honest, and uncomfortable conversation with Longbottom that she’d ever had, and that they had come through it better and stronger than she expected. But it was early days yet, and Draco wanted to see if Longbottom really altered his behavior after the talk before he judged that the couple was out of the woods entirely.

“Besides which,” Harry said, pulling Draco’s attention back to him, “we already have an ex-couple, Blaise and Vesper, in the wedding party, and I don’t hear you talking about how _that_ will be awkward.”

“That’s because…” Draco began, but realized that, while he had plenty of arguments for that, he really had no _good_ ones. He sighed again. “Very well.” He looked down at his list again. “Now, to the other parts of the ceremony. Who should officiate? I had thought maybe Kingsley…?”

Harry made a face. “That’s a bit much, don’t you think? Having the Minister of Magic marry us? How pretentious do we want to get here?”

Draco laughed. “We wouldn’t be having him do it as Minister. It would be because he’s our friend.”

Harry thought about that. “Still…” he said. “Let’s invite him, obviously, but I’d rather have someone like…” He scratched the back of his neck. “Maybe Arthur Weasley? I know it’s a lot to ask, and I don’t think of him as a surrogate parent as much as I do Molly, but it would still be nice to include him…” He eyed Draco nervously, which Draco found rather adorable.

“It’s all right, Harry. I think that’s a fine idea.”

“It won’t bother you to have a Weasley in charge of the ceremony? Your ancestors won’t be rolling over in their graves?”

“Considering I’m going to be marrying Harry Potter, who isn’t just a half-blood from a traditionally light family, but also _male_ to boot, I rather think that ship has sailed, don’t you?”

Harry grinned. “Yes, I suppose it has.”

“So, Arthur Weasley it is, then. Now as for the other roles…” He glanced at Teddy, and Harry followed his gaze.

“Teddy?” Harry said.

The boy looked up, blinking. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to be in the wedding?”

Teddy was still for a moment before he nodded, his smile small. “Yeah.”

Harry and Draco exchanged an amused and indulgent look. Teddy could be exuberant and enthusiastic about things, but when he was truly and deeply pleased by an idea he was often shy about his happiness instead.

“How about ring bearer?” Draco suggested to him.

“What’s that?”

“It’s the person who’s in charge of carrying the wedding rings down the aisle. You know, the rings that Harry and I will put on each other’s fingers and wear forever to show we’re married.”

Teddy’s eyes widened. “You’d let me carry those?” he asked, awed.

Draco fought a chuckle. “If you’re good and careful with them, of course we would trust you.”

“I’ll be good and careful,” Teddy promised. “I want to do it.”

“All right, then.”

Talk turned to the issue of a flower girl, and whether Victoire was really old enough to handle the responsibility. Teddy insisted that she was, and that he would watch over her and help her on the day, which made both Draco and Harry give in and agree.

With the structure of the ceremony and wedding party finalized Draco folded up his parchment and sent it off to his mother using his beloved owl, Archimedes. He returned to the kitchen to join Harry and Teddy, who were gathering at the table for dinner.

“Since you and Draco are going to be married,” Teddy said as Draco made to sit down, “does that mean you will have a baby soon?”

Harry went very still, then glanced at Draco, seeming at a loss for words. But Draco thought he knew where this was coming from.

“You mean like how Toby’s mum and dad are going to have a baby?”

“Yeah!” said Teddy excitedly. “He says he’s going to have a little brother or sister, just like Victoire has Dominique, right? And it will be a baby and Toby gets to be a big brother and watch it grow up.”

“Yes, that’s what will happen,” said Draco.

“So are you going to have a baby? I know you can’t have a baby in your belly like Toby’s mum. Toby told me only girls can do that. But Harry said that boys who are married can have babies too, just in a different way.”

“Yes,” Harry said, sounding wary. “I did say that, didn’t I?”

“Harry and I would like to have a baby someday,” Draco said, looking to Harry for confirmation that it was ok to share this. Harry gave him a small nod. “But not right away. Maybe in a few years.”

“But _why_?” said Teddy. “I’ll be so old by then.”

Harry laughed. “You won’t be that old, Ted. Maybe eight or nine. You’ll still have lots of time to be a big brother by the time we have a baby.”

“But when I’m eleven I’ll go to Hogwarts, and eight or nine isn’t that far away from eleven. That doesn’t give me very much time at all,” Teddy argued, sounding adorably reasonable. “So maybe you could have a baby sooner than that.”

Harry ruffled Teddy’s hair. “Let’s just get through this wedding, all right? Then we can talk about what comes next.”

Teddy sighed, clearly knowing that he was being brushed off, but Pipsy had put his dinner in front of him by then, and he seemed willing to focus on that instead. Harry cast Draco a glance that was half-amused, half-relieved, and Draco returned it.

Babies were certainly good and exciting, but they had plenty of excitement in their lives at the moment. If only they could somehow convince Teddy of that.


	26. Insidiously

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK! Time to bonk you over the head with some plot. I'll mention again that this kind of writing is very much an area of growth for me, and I welcome feedback if you think there are ways I can do this better. I value all of your thoughts so much!
> 
> Also be advised that there are some fairly graphic details about past violent acts in this chapter. Just so it doesn't sneak up on you.
> 
> All my love, as always! <3

(Vesper)

Vesper chewed on her quill and looked over her report. This was the part she always dreaded the most: writing. She could articulate her thoughts aloud just fine, but putting them on the page was always like pulling teeth. Which was probably why she’d always strived for passable work at school, rather than exceptional, when it came to essays anyway. Getting them done in the first place felt like a miracle, sometimes.

She’d never had to write anything like an essay or a report when she was a duelist, she remembered wistfully. Then she flicked the hair tie on her wrist, making it snap against her skin, and reminded herself that she _wanted_ to be here, and writing up a report on what they had discovered about Edmund Troyer’s intimate connection with the head of the Fearon smuggling ring was a small price to pay for doing work that _meant_ something.

“Kemp.”

Vesper looked up to see her partner standing in the doorway.

"Fifteen minutes," he informed her.

“Already?” she looked at her watch, muttering "shit" under her breath when she realized he was right.

She had been hoping to finish her report before this department meeting with Robards. She had reason to believe that it was related to the Green Adders, the largest open case the Corps had at the moment. She wanted to be fully focused, rather than have part of her mind still lingering on outstanding paperwork.

Most departments hadn't heard anything about the Green Adders in over a month. The Organized Crime department was making it their first priority, and everyone else had been instructed to focus on their own caseloads. Robards had made a point of gathering the entire Corps together for a presentation on the Adders and the Aurors current intelligence on them, at least, which Vesper had found enlightening, and even a little reassuring. While it was troubling that the Adders were managing to recruit so many young members, it seemed the face of their organization was changing in such a way that they didn't much resemble the Death Eaters of the past anymore, and were now rather their own, more democratic entity. Vesper took some comfort in that it didn't appear that anyone in the group was vying for the position of a new Dark Lord amongst them, nor were they at all fixated on the greatest symbols of the Second War - Voldemort and Harry Potter - like they were a few years ago. Out of personal concern for her friend alone, that was a relief to hear.

Still, they were a violent group whose main goal seemed to be to show the power and superiority of magic, and the Corps had every reason to believe that they were planning another attack. What form that attack would take, and where and when it would take place, was currently unknown. The Adders who had been captured and interrogated only knew partial information, and Organized Crime was having a hell of a time trying to put the pieces together. To the point where they were prepared to reach out to other departments for help, it seemed.

This was an important opportunity, and Vesper didn't want to mess it up.

“All right," she told her partner, sighing. "I’m almost done with this report. I’ll send it in and join you there.” She could hurry through it. She always worked better when she was on a deadline anyway.

Mac looked down at the half-written report with a knowing smile. “Why don’t we finish that up together?”

Vesper huffed a surprised laugh, feeling both grateful and embarrassed. “If you’re willing, sir, I could use the help.”

Mac rolled his eyes. “Don’t call me ‘sir,’ Kemp. I’m your partner, remember? Not your boss.”

Vesper nodded once, sharply. “Right.” There was still a lot in this job she was getting used to.

***

The Auror Corps conference room had to be temporarily magically expanded to accommodate everyone inside, Vesper noticed idly as she and McInerney entered and looked around for seats. There had to be at least four different whole departments squeezing into one room. She looked around, seeing a couple of Aurors she recognized from the Murder Squad and another from Organized Crime. Her stomach flipped when she spotted Declan and his partner, a stocky, no-nonsense looking witch with piercing dark eyes. So, the Unlicensed Magic department was involved as well. Vesper swallowed, glad her ex hadn’t spotted her yet.

McInerney nudged her with his elbow, getting her attention, and pointed to a couple of seats with the rest of their department, near Dempsey and his partner, Sophie Moreau. Vesper hardly would volunteer to sit with Dempsey, but she wasn’t about to argue now. The place was filling up and the presentation was about to start. She nodded and followed him to the seats.

When she sat down Moreau gave her a friendly nod and Dempsey the smallest of sneers, what he could get away with in this crowded room. She was sure he was reserving his bigger sneer and snarky comments for when no one was watching.

Her eyes flitted to Declan again. He had been completely ignoring her since the breakup, which was understandable and better than the alternative. He could, if he wanted to, make things very difficult for her at work. But he wasn’t that kind of guy. He was taking the high road.

Vesper felt a stab of regret. Not for breaking up with him - that had been the right thing to do - but for starting to date him in the first place. She’d utterly ruined their friendship, one that she had come to value in its own right and one that she had really been relying on as she was initiated into the Corps. It was important to have allies, and she had lost her most important one through her own lack of foresight.

Declan caught her eye, then, and she saw his face harden a moment. He looked away. Vesper sighed, her heart going double-time and a slight nausea squirming in her gut. Yes, she had burned that bridge pretty thoroughly.

Vesper was relieved when Robards called the meeting to order and she would have something else to focus on. He had his deputy, Auror Chopra, pass out copies of a case file to everyone in the room while Robards made an introduction.

“As you all know, finding out what the terrorist organization known as the Green Adders is plotting and then thwarting them has been Priority One for the Corps since their attack in our retreat last month. I'll remind you that interrogations of the captured members have gleaned some information, but, at this point, it’s still spotty. Those who were captured are younger members, newer recruits to the cause of blood purity. They were zealous, as new recruits often are, but not very informed. They revealed, under Veritaserum, that the Adders are indeed planning another attack, though none of them knew either the target or the method of the attack. All they knew was that it was meant to be large scale and was meant to make a statement. ‘Magic is Might,’ the motto adopted by Voldemort and his followers during their time of control over the Ministry, appears to be a watchword for this organization as well, despite the fact that Voldemort and his teachings are no longer part of the central manifesto of their organization.

“At this point, we are not spending our energy trying to neutralize their leader or leaders. Much of the structure of the Adders hierarchy is still unknown. We believe our time is better spent destroying the Adders’ plot to attack us before it can begin. The Organized Crime department has spent the last few weeks combing through current and unsolved cases to find anything that might be connected to the Green Adders and their plot, and, after some consultation with the Murder Squad, we have a very promising lead. If you would open the case files that the Deputy Head Auror distributed.”

There was a collective shuffling of papers as each Auror opened their file.

“What you have in front of you is an ongoing serial murder case that the Squad has been working since the summer. The first assumption was that the murders were perpetrated by an individual with some kind of psychopathic need to kill in this specific manner. There were only three victims known to us until last week, when a mass grave was discovered that included over a dozen bodies.“

There was some murmuring around the room at that, and Vesper could hardly be surprised. _Over a dozen? All by one person?_ That was a disturbing thought.

“Each victim,” Robards went on, raising his voice to be heard over the sounds of surprise, “had injuries and a cause of death that matched the other three known victims. There is no doubt they are connected, and there is no doubt that whoever is doing this is much more prolific than we thought, and may even have a purpose beyond satisfying the need to murder. Though the bodies were in different stages of decay, none of them were over six months old, meaning that our murderer or murderers unknown have been killing at a rate of nearly three people per month, and are showing no signs that they will be stopping any time soon.

“All of this is troubling, yes, and we have every reason to put multiple departments on the case as a means of preventing more murders. But, after consulting with a magical theorist about the specific injuries the victims sustained, we have also gained insight into the purpose of the murders and how they are connected to the next attack the Green Adders are planning. If you would now take a look at the photographs provided…”

There was more shuffling of paper as the Aurors lifted the case notes and looked underneath, where a series of wizard photographs showed a detailed look at each of the victims and their injuries.

Vesper had to avert her eyes and swallow, taking a couple of measured breaths before she could return her gaze to the photos. She had not been faced with much death in her life, except in movies and TV, and to know that these were _real_ …

She made herself look again, with some effort.

The victims were different genders, different races, and, as she had seen from the case notes, different blood statuses. But they had one thing in common: a gaping, circular hole carved out of the center of their abdomen. For the older corpses the circle was less defined, as decay and animal activity had been working away at the body. But there were a couple of fresh ones, the victims who had been discovered only a few days after their murders, and their wounds were clean, though bloody, and perfectly circular. In one she could actually see shadows of internal organs through the hole, and she had to clench her jaw hard to keep from gagging.

She looked around the room, mostly as a means to distract herself, and saw that she was not alone in her reaction. Many of the faces around her had paled, though the more experienced Aurors were taking it in stride. Her fellow Junior Aurors, like Declan, Morgan, and Dempsey, looked positively green with disgust.

“Yes,” Robards said soberly. “It’s a disturbing means of murder, made all the more disturbing when you hear the true purpose of the method. You’ll notice that holes in the abdomen of each victim are the same size and shape, and are located in exactly the same place: between the kidneys, just a little below the stomach, the exact place where the magical core resides.”

There was more murmuring at this, and one Auror from Declan’s department spoke up. “They’re destroying magical cores? Why?”

“Not destroying them, no,” Robards replied. “They’re… removing them, intact.”

The noise around the table was more than murmuring now, with Aurors leaning into their partners and speculating, or, in some cases, outright refusing to believe it. Vesper heard one of them say, on her right side, “That is not possible.”

“That’s enough,” Robards said mildly, calling the attention back again. “I’m sure many of your are skeptical, and I wouldn’t blame you. But there appears to be no other explanation. Extensive autopsies of each body, both physical and magical, have revealed no trace remnants of a core in any of the victims. Normally, when a witch or wizard dies their core drains its magical energy before disintegrating. It leaves behind a shell of its former self, as well as a distinct magical signature, an imprint, if you will, of its former presence. But nothing of the sort was found. The cores of each of the victims appear to have been – for lack of a better phrase – scooped out, and, based on the bleeding around the wound, the procedure occurred while the victim was still alive.”

“Sweet Merlin,” whispered an Auror on Vesper’s left, sounding nauseated.

“The most logical conclusion we can come to is that the murderer wanted the magical cores intact and functioning, to use for their own purposes.”

“And what purpose could they have for the cores?” Moreau asked.

“Wait,” said another Auror from Unlicensed Magic, talking over her, “I’m still stuck on the procedure here. How is removing an intact magical core even possible? Do we _know_ that it is?”

“We have no way to know for certain that it is,” Robards answered. “It is theoretically possible, but as testing such a procedure on a living person would be fatal and unethical, it’s never been tried. Neither Healers nor magical theorists can tell us definitively whether or not a magical core can exist intact outside the body. But we must assume that it is possible, given what these murders entail. This case is unprecedented, and we are forced to make a few logical leaps.” There were more Aurors wanting to get their own questions in now, but Robards cut them off. “Auror Moreau’s question is the one I want to focus on now, as the _how_ of this situation is still being determined. The _why_ , though, is the truly central issue here. For what purpose would someone need a magical core? I’d like to introduce Zelda Nadharia, the theorist who is consulting with us on this case, to talk more about our understanding of the magical core. Ms. Nadharia?”

A thin, regal-looking woman stood then, nodding to Robards. “Thank you, Head Auror,” she said steadily. She looked around the room. “I have spent my entire professional career studying the magical core, and there is still much to learn about its nature. What I can tell you is that the magical core is, in its essence, a concentrated and self-replenishing orb of raw magical energy. Any human who possesses a magical core can tap into this raw energy most easily through a wand, using the magical substances contained within that wand as a conduit to hone and focus that magic.”

Vesper found herself nodding automatically. Her uncle talked about this all the time, the fact that the wand was a conduit, and that true power came from the core itself. That was the thing he always emphasized. _You want a powerful wand,_ she could hear him say inside her head, as if he was right there. _You want the right wand for you. But it is nothing but a stick of wood if you are not concentrating on the power that comes from within you._

But the theorist was continuing her explanation, and Vesper made herself focus again.

“It can also, as we know,” Nadharia went on, “be tapped into in a more instinctive way, without a wand, and wandless magic is certainly common, though much more unruly. In either case, what we see normally is that magic is siphoned from the core and used to suit the caster’s purposes, and is then replenished naturally by the body. This is how the magical core of a healthy adult functions day to day. Our understanding of how a magical core might behave _outside_ of a body… well, it is only theoretical. However,” she said, in response to the stirring of the Aurors around her that made it clear they were gearing up to ask some questions, “I believe that I can theorize with a good degree of accuracy, in this case. A magical core without a conduit is likely to be unstable. The body uses the magical energy of the core regularly, not just through spells, but for the daily function of keeping a witch or wizard alive and healthy. The energy _wants_ to be used, and if it is somehow being stored without a means of release, it could… explode. It’s essentially a bomb waiting to go off.”

She looked around, waiting for that to sink in. The Aurors were not murmuring and shifting anymore. They were staring at Ms. Nadharia in horror.

“Perhaps you already see where I’m going with this,” she said. “All to the better. The key issue here is that we have every reason to believe that a magical core on its own can be shattered easily, and when shattered will release a burst of magical energy powerful enough to be immensely destructive. _How_ destructive is... impossible to say. We cannot know without seeing it in action. But suffice it to say that the number of magical cores that have been collected so far from these murder victims could, potentially, with their energy combined, affect an area the size of London itself.”

There was silence in the room, not a cough or a gasp or a sniff. It reigned for a moment or two before one of the Senior Aurors from the Organized Crime department spoke into the quiet. “We believe this is what the Green Adders intend to do,” he said, his expression grave as he looked from face to face. “This is why we believe they are behind the murders. They want to collect magical cores in order to build a weapon of unprecedented power, which they will then unleash, most likely right here in London.”

“Why?” said another Auror. “Why would they want to do something _so_ dangerous, that could destroy them as well, not to mention a staggering number of magical lives? I understand the ‘Magic is Might’ message. This would certainly fit the criteria, showing the raw power that a magical core can unleash. But to kill so many people? So many _magical_ people? Is that really what they want?”

Robards joined Nadharia at the front of the room. “We have reason to believe that it is Muggles who would be most affected. Most magical people, healthy ones anyway, would survive it.”

“He’s right,” Nadharia said. “Most magic does not kill those who have magic themselves. There are exceptions, of course, like the Killing Curse, but those require intense concentration and a will to kill. Raw magic, like what would come directly out of a core, wouldn’t have any intention; it would just be pure energy, and we have natural defenses to protect ourselves from that. It could kill some magical people, those who are weak or ill, but not most of us.”

“That may in fact be the Adders’ secondary intention,” Robards added. “To destroy Muggles, but also to destroy the lives of anyone the Adders see as ‘weak,’ which, given their ideology, likely includes Muggleborns. They might believe that this will weed them out as well. It won’t, of course. There is no connection between the power of one’s magical core and their blood status, as we know. But the Adders believe differently, and we have to consider _their_ beliefs and motives when we theorize about how they might attack us. This, the building of a weapon using collected magical cores, is our best working theory, which is why we have asked the departments who work with unlicensed magic and dark artifacts to join us on this case.” His dark eyes scanned the room, lingering on the two departments he just mentioned. “The Murder Squad will continue following their own leads in the murder investigation, and the Organized Crime department will be continue to track the Adders movements and try to thwart the attack before it happens. What we need from the Unlicensed Magic and the Dark Artifacts departments is for you to determine the forms this weapon could possibly take, based on what we know about magical cores and raw magic. We need to know how this weapon functions and what we can do to safely disable or destroy it.”

Vesper couldn’t help it; she gaped. The task sounded impossible. How could they figure out how to disable a weapon that didn’t yet exist? She looked at Mac to see that he was watching Robards and Nadharia with his mouth set in a grim line. He glanced her way, and she could see her own incredulity reflected in his eyes.

“We will now be taking questions.” Robards said.

A dozen hands shot up, each Auror eager to understand more. But Vesper was not among them. She had no idea what to ask.

_Where do we even begin?_

***

“My concern,” Moreau said in her light French accent, leaning back in her chair, “is that we have no _proof_ that the serial murder case is connected to the Green Adders. There is only the strong possibility that it is.”

“ _That’s_ your concern?” said William Shelby, a pale, wispy-haired Senior Auror from Unlicensed Magic. “You think that’s really more troubling than the fact that we’re expected to conceive of, from theory alone, a weapon that may or may not be possible to invent, and then determine how it _theoretically_ might be destroyed? Because to me, that is the much bigger issue here.”

Vesper had to agree. And, looking about the room at the nodding and raised eyebrows, she could see that she wasn’t alone.

The two departments had been encouraged to convene after the presentation was finished, in order to develop a plan action to begin the assignment Robards had just handed them. But everyone seemed to have a different opinion on the approach, not to mention a need to complain a bit about the impossibility of the task in the first place, now that Robards was no longer listening in.

“I only mean,” Moreau replied, her accent becoming more pronounced as her chin tilted upwards in annoyance, “that the work itself may be for nothing, if this is not in fact what the Green Adders are planning at all.”

“Maybe it isn’t the Green Adders,” said Declan’s partner, Auror Kaine. “But _someone_ is extracting magical cores for _some_ nefarious purpose, and I for one am perfectly willing to do everything I can to stop them. This is murder we’re talking about, on a scale that we haven’t seen since the war. It is our duty to do what is asked of us.”

There was some murmuring of agreement, and Moreau turned away to roll her eyes. “We are fools,” Vesper heard her say under her breath, “to dive blindly into an assignment simply because we don’t know what else to do.”

But most of the people in the room didn’t hear her, as they were already starting another argument about where the assignment should start.

“It’s a thought experiment,” said Auror Decker, from Vesper’s own department. “We put ourselves in the Adders’ place and imagine the ideal weapon they would want to build. Then we design it to those specifications. Once we have the design, we’ll know how it functions and how to destroy it.”

“How can we really know what sort of weapon they want if we don’t understand their motives?” asked Shelby.

“The Head Auror explained the Adders’ motives,” Kaine said impatiently.

“We know his _theory_ on the motives,” said Moreau. “A patchy theory, at best, in my opinion. It doesn’t even account for why the Adders were apparently willing to take magical lives to collect the cores, but want to preserve magical lives when they carry out their attack. That seems like quite mixed motives to me.”

“They believe in a sacrifice of a few for the betterment of the many,” said Kaine, sniffing.

“There were purebloods among those victims,” said Moreau. “Surely they never would have-“

“Never mind that,” said Auror Hammond, Morgan’s partner, effectively cutting off the disagreement. “The greater issue is that there are infinite possibilities for the design of such a weapon. How will we know what it is the right one?”

“They want to build a bomb of some kind, that much is obvious,” said Decker.

“Is it?” questioned Hammond. “There are many forms that the weapon could-“

“The magical theorist said that magical cores outside the body are designed to explode-“ Decker cut in.

“She said they were _likely_ to explode, not they were designed to,” said another Auror.

“Same thing, as far as I’m concerned,” Decker spat.

“That’s not really-“

“Don’t you think we should-“

“We haven’t-“

“Enough!” Mac said sharply. “Enough. This isn’t getting us anywhere. Mainly because the way we’re used to doing things, our normal procedure, isn’t going to work in this case. We’re used to dealing with unlicensed magic that’s already been performed or artifacts that have already been created. We’re not usually expected to deal with the theoretical. But now we have to, which means we need a fresh approach. Now, I notice we haven’t heard from any of the Junior Aurors yet, likely because they don’t think they have enough experience to add something. But new perspectives could be very useful to us here.” He looked from Declan to Morgan to Dempsey, his eyes finally landing on Vesper sitting next to him. “Kemp,” he said. “Any thoughts?”

 _Of course, he has to pick me._ Vesper knew that Mac was likely trying to give her a vote of confidence rather than put her on the spot, but this was hardly the moment she wanted it. She was aware of all eyes on her, including Declan’s and Dempsey’s, which she felt most palpably.

She took a deep breath. She didn’t have some brilliant solution for them, but then, she realized, neither did the Senior Aurors. They just had opinions. So, what was hers?

“I think there’s too much we don’t know,” she said. “There are too many questions. We’ve already raised some important ones. If this is really the work of the Green Adders, why are their motives so confused?” She nodded at Moreau. “If they are building a weapon, what form would it take?” She looked at Hammond. “How can we understand something in theory that we have no way of knowing will work in practice? These are all legitimate questions. And I have some more of my own. Like what method did the murderers use to extract the magical cores, and how are they storing them so they will remain stable until they are ready to be used? Robards seemed content to gloss over those ‘how’ type questions in the presentation, but I can’t help but think that they might help us understand what this weapon is or what it could be, not to mention what kind of knowledge or expertise our murderer has. I realize the Murder Squad is following some of those leads, but I think they are relevant to us as well.” She looked around to see that there were a number of Aurors that were nodding in agreement, which spurred her on. “So I think… I think we all have questions we want answered, and before we can do anything, we have to _get_ those answers. I don't know a lot about the procedure for consulting outsiders on cases as sensitive as this one. But I for one would like to talk to a Healer about what it would actually mean to extract the magical core from a living body. And I’d like to talk to a magical engineer about what kind of materials can stand up to the raw magic exuded by a core. And I’d also like to talk to Ms. Nadharia more about the kind of damage the raw magic could specifically inflict and what it might look, sound, or feel like. I think, until we have a better grasp on all of that, there’s no way we can move forward on speculating on the design of the weapon. We just… we need more information.”

“I agree,” said Declan, and Vesper found her gaze flicking to him sharply. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she saw him regard her for a moment with an impassive expression. “I have a lot of the same questions, and basically no answers. I thought maybe that was because I’m new to this, but…” He gave an apologetic smile to the room at large. “It seems to me all of us are out of our depth here. Auror Kemp is right; we need some expert help.”

“So maybe that’s our first plan of action,” Mac said. “We go our separate ways and reach out to those we know and trust in the fields of Healing, engineering, theory, what have you to answer our most pressing questions. Then we reconvene and share what we’ve learned. Once we have more information, we may have a clearer path ahead of us to move into the design phase of this theoretical weapon. We may even have some pertinent information to share with the other departments on the case. What say you?”

There was a general nod of assent, and the meeting came to an informal end.

“Good work, Kemp,” Mac said in her ear. “You said exactly what we needed to hear.”

She appreciated the praise, but she couldn’t help but feel that her partner had handed her the victory. “If you wanted those things said, why didn’t you say them yourself?”

McInerney gave her an odd look for a moment. “I was still rolling around Moreau’s initial point in my head. I wasn’t thinking the same thing you were thinking. I didn’t have anything to contribute, other than the fact that I knew we weren’t getting anywhere. That’s why I asked you.”

Vesper stared at him, dumbfounded. Mac smirked.

“Fresh eyes,” he said. “Never underestimate the gift of fresh eyes. That’s why I love Junior Aurors so much.”

Vesper huffed a laugh. McInerney surprised her constantly, but that was part of what made him such a good partner.

“You coming?” he asked her, standing up. “There’s still a bit more we can do on the Fearon case before we head home for the day.”

Vesper glanced at Declan, who had just finished up a discussion with his own partner. “I’ll be right there. Just give me a minute.”

“All right,” said McInerney. And with that he left the office.

Vesper approached Declan. He was watching her with a wary gaze.

“Thanks for having my back just now.”

“What you said was valuable,” he said neutrally. “And I happened to agree.”

“Well, even so, you could have…” Vesper bit her lip. “I just appreciate you backing me up, that’s all.”

“You think I’m the kind of bloke to try and humiliate you in front of both our departments?” he said defensively.

“Of course not. That’s not what I meant.” Vesper grit her teeth, making an effort to even out her tone. “I just appreciated you speaking up. It was an intimidating situation to be in and it was nice to see that someone had my back.”

“Your partner seemed to have your back just fine.”

“Yeah, he’s good about that.” She searched Declan’s face, finding it hard to read. “Why, does your partner not have yours?”

“She’s fine. She’s great. A little intense, but… look, I…” His eyes carried a lot of pain.

“I miss talking to you,” Vesper said, deciding to go for broke. “I miss our friendship. Do you think… Is there any chance that we can be friends again?”

He wouldn’t look at her. She waited. “I miss you too. But it’s more than the talking and the… Look, I just miss you. But I’m also pissed off.” His jaw tightened. “And I think I have a right to be. I try to be a good guy and not let is affect how we work together, but you’ve got to give me some space, all right? I’m doing the best I can.”

Vesper took a step back. “I know that. I know you are. I’m… sorry.”

“I know,” he said, his eyes catching hers for a second. “But that doesn’t help me, much.”

Vesper sighed. “Right.”

“I need time. Our departments are going to be overlapping now, and I’ll do what I have to do about that but… I need time.”

Vesper nodded, knowing she had no right to ask more of him. She also knew she had no right to express what she was feeling, how much she really missed him. That would only make it worse.

“What I really wanted,” she managed, finally, “was to thank you for being such a good guy. And to tell you that the Corps is lucky to have you. That’s all.”

That was met with silence. Vesper peeked under her eyelashes and saw that Declan was staring at the floor. She couldn’t read his face.

“Just go,” he said softly. “I can’t do this right now.”

Vesper had no choice but to turn, an acute pain in her chest. She was trying to make things right, but it looked like she was only making things worse.

 _Just concentrate on the case_ , she told herself as she made her way down the hall, towards the lifts that would take her back to the Dark Artifacts office. _Just make work your life, for now, and everything else will sort itself out._


	27. Chandelier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More wedding fluff! Mostly this was just an excuse to get Harry and Narcissa alone for some mother-son time. I love this woman so much.
> 
> As per usual your comments have made all the difference to me! I know I haven't gotten to everyone (I'm behind again ugh) but I'll be able to get to them in the next day or so. It means so much that you all are still invested in this story!! It's what keeps me writing.
> 
> Sending love, health, and happiness your way <33

(Harry)

Harry was daydreaming when a knock came to his office door. He was supposed to be drafting a memo to one of the solicitors about the Rowle case, which was to have a preliminary hearing the following week.

But he wasn’t writing the memo. Instead he was thinking about the incredible talent of Draco’s tongue, a talent his fiancé had put to good use the night before as he teased Harry’s cock and massaged him inside with two deft fingers, tormenting Harry into a whirling, building vortex of pleasure that seemed to go on and on.

He’d come shouting Draco’s name to the ceiling, slept beside him in a blissful, post-coital haze, and then spent the entirety of the following morning in a state of semi-arousal as he remembered it: the pleasure, but also the look on Draco’s face as he swallowed Harry’s cum.

 _Fuck._ He adjusted himself in his chair, trying to manage his erection.

This engagement had been like a cattle prod to both of their libidos. They’d gotten much more daring in the past couple of weeks and had even pawned Teddy off to Andromeda and Narcissa a few evenings so they could shag unhindered in any room of the house they felt like.

 _Imagine what the honeymoon is going to be like_ , he thought, _when we’ll have no interruptions or obligations to stop us from fucking nonstop for a week straight._ He chuckled to himself in anticipation and amusement.

Which was when the knock on the door came, and Harry had to breathe deeply a few times to quell his flush.

“Come in.”

A petite brunette opened the door, a stack of parchment in hand.

“Is this a good time, Mr. P- I mean…” She cleared her throat. “Harry. Is this a good time?”

“Sure, Andrea,” he said, smiling at her. “What can I do for you?”

Andrea Platt had started at the Foundation only about four months after Harry. Naomi’s task force had just completed its mission and founded the Department for Blood Equity and Inclusion, of which, to his shock, Harry was named Deputy Head. Which meant that he, at nineteen years old, was going to be managing a staff and required an assistant. Andrea had been hired then, and she had served dutifully as his assistant for three years, until he recommended her for a promotion. Even though she was now one of his fellow department operatives and no longer his assistant, she still had trouble not calling him “Mr. Potter” in spite of how often he reminded her not to.

It had been odd, in fact, when she had called him “Mr. Potter” _while_ she was his assistant, given that she was three years older than him. But, since he was the youngest Deputy Head of a department the Foundation had ever seen, he’d had to get used to people older than him deferring to him quite often, even when he didn’t want them to.

She sat down across from him now, her attention on the stack of parchment she held.

“There’s some… reports from the afterschool program…” she began, thumbing through the pages. “A couple of incidents. Nothing major, just the normal accidental magic sort of stuff. One student melted his friend’s hat while they were play fighting over it and another…” She thumbed some more. “Another turned a fellow student into a badger… but the staff put that right very quickly.”

“Sure.” Those sort of things happened all the time when dealing with magical children.

“And we’ve lost two attendees, I’m afraid.”

“Lost them.” Harry looked at her with concern. “How?”

Her eyes widened. “I mean – no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean ‘lost’ in the sense of… I meant that they’ve decided to leave the program. That’s all.”

Harry bit back a smile. “No, I understood what you meant. I just wanted to know what caused them to leave. Was it something about the program, or…”

Andrea huffed a self-deprecating sigh and flushed. “Right. Of course. Um, no, it wasn’t us. One child’s family is about to move to Iceland, so… that’s that.”

“Yeah.”

“And the other child…” She looked over her notes. “…is being pulled because his father had some kind of falling out with the father of another child in the program, and those children are friends and the father of the first child doesn’t want them spending time together anymore.”

Harry sighed. “So he’s pulling his son out.”

“Precisely.”

“The other child is staying in?”

“Yes, sir.”

Harry gave her a mildly admonishing look for the honorific, but she was still staring at her notes and didn’t see.

“Is there anything else I should know? How’s the Rowle situation being received? Is there a lot of talk or gossip about it among the kids or parents?”

“Some talk amongst the parents, mostly about what a ridiculous sod Edmund Rowle is.”

Harry snorted, and Andrea gave him a tentative smile.

“The children seem oblivious. It’s business as usual.”

“And Jasmine?”

“I’ve been looking out for her, like you asked, and she seems her normal self.”

“Great, thank you for doing that.”

“It’s my pleasure, sir.”

Now she was looking at him, so at least his admonishment could land.

“I mean Harry,” she amended, chagrined.

He smiled. “I’ll admit, I was concerned about how the Rowle case would affect things at the program. I thought… I don’t know…” He rubbed his chin. “I thought maybe some parents would pull their kids, because of the bad publicity, or maybe the children would… that the line between purebloods and the rest would feel sharper somehow, that the gap would widen.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen. We would have seen it by now.”

Harry nodded. “Sure. I’m just… that’s my worst nightmare, honestly. The program is my brainchild, four years of my life. If it all falls apart because of one stubborn war criminal…”

“I thought you handled the interview with the _Prophet_ really well,” she said. “You clarified the situation and let people know where we stand. I think we gained ground rather than lost it.”

“You think so?”

“I do. I really do. I think… don’t quote me on this, but I think the publicity might have actually been good for us. We made it clear we’re a place of inclusion, that we welcome all kinds, and that we’re a safe space where a child’s blood status and family history don’t affect how accepted they will be. And like you said, it’s been nearly four years since the program was founded, and people take for granted that it’s there… the publicity has reminded people that what we do is important.”

Harry thought that over. “You think interest will go up?”

“I think enrollment will go up,” she said. “We usually get a surge in January, don’t we?”

“The largest surge in enrollment we get is in September,” said Harry. “But January’s decent too.”

“Well, I think it’s going to be more than decent. I think it’s going to be a really good January for us.”

Harry allowed himself a small smile. He liked her optimism, as well as her competence. He was glad it was she he had chosen to oversee the program, since he had to be away from work most afternoons with Teddy.

“Well, thank you, and keep up the good work. I feel a lot better knowing the program is in such good hands when I can’t be there myself.”

Andrea’s smile was more than tentative now, and she looked rather pleased. “Thank you for saying that.”

Harry glanced at his watch. “I’d stay and talk longer, but unfortunately I have a lunch meeting. But let’s get together soon and discuss the coverage of my duties during my honeymoon. I want to make sure nothing slips through the cracks, and with Naomi now on maternity leave…”

“Of course,” she replied. “Though you know you shouldn’t worry. We’ll take care of all of it.” She stood.

“I know you will. But I have to admit I feel a little guilty. Seems to me I didn’t pick the most convenient time to get married. But this is important to both Draco and me, so we’re making it work.”

“I think it’s wonderful,” Andrea said, beaming. “The whole wizarding world has been waiting for you to tie the knot. And now that you have Teddy…”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, it’s the right time.” It’s what all the papers were saying, not that _that_ was why Harry thought so. He’d rolled his eyes at the media’s coverage of their engagement and all the speculation about what sort of ceremony they would have and what they would be wearing and what sort of “A-list” war heroes and celebrities would be attending. It was absurd, but it was also business as usual, for the papers anyway, so he didn’t much care. “All right, I’ve got to run. I’ll see you later on?”

“Sure. I’ll talk to your assistant and put a meeting on the schedule for us.”

“Perfect.”

***

The lunch meeting he had was not with a client or a solicitor, but with Narcissa Malfoy. The wedding plans were in full swing now, and Narcissa had apparently compiled an entire book that included every detail of the ceremony and reception, and needed Harry’s approval for a good portion of it. While he would be happy to spend time with Narcissa under other circumstances, he was not particularly looking forward to the meeting. A part of him hoped that Narcissa would just make most of the decisions herself so he didn’t have to, but another part of him was worried that he wouldn’t like some of her ideas and would have to tell her so. _That_ was quite an unpleasant prospect.

“I’m glad you’re here, Harry,” Narcissa greeted him in the foyer, kissing his cheek.

Harry returned the kiss and pulled back to smile at his soon-to-be mother-in-law. She had been slowly warming up to him for years, degree by degree, as Harry continued to prove his devotion to her son. But now that he and Draco were engaged he was seeing a whole new side of her, a whole new level of warmth. Maybe she had been waiting for this for a long time, or perhaps she was simply excited and would go back to her normal self after the wedding. Harry didn’t know. But either way it was one of the plus sides of this wedding planning process, and he decided he would enjoy it for what it was, for as long as it lasted.

“I’m glad to be here.”

She gave him an amused, knowing look. “I know this isn’t your favorite thing, and I would do much of it with Draco, if he had the time, but… it must be done.”

“I understand.”

“Good then. I thought I’d first walk you through the space we’ll be using for the ceremony and the reception, to make sure it’s to your liking.”

“All right. Though I’m sure I will like it.” He wasn’t about to tell her he _didn’t_.

She took him first to the ballroom, a bright, expansive room with high, gilded ceilings, arches all along the side, framing the space, and a massive, opulent crystal chandelier that probably weighed about a ton hanging as a focal point in the room.

“We’ll have the reception in here,” she told him. “We’ll set up tables for the guests to eat and drink and sit comfortably on that end of the room.” She pointed to the far side, where the ballroom ended at a set of large glass doors that opened into the gardens. “And on this side will be the dance floor, and I’ll erect a stage for the band here along this wall.” She gestured some more.

“Right,” Harry said dazedly. A band, just another thing he hadn’t thought of. Well, he couldn’t see the harm, though he hoped part of the night they could play music on a sound system, so Harry and Draco could both have their favorite songs. Draco had already given Harry a list, and Harry had added to it himself.

“Well, what do you think?”

“I… think it’s great. There’s… you know… a lot of space, and that’s good.”

He heard Narcissa chuckle to herself softly and gave her a sheepish smile. She smiled back, hooking her arm through his.

“I have all sorts of ideas for how to decorate the space. We’ll make it very special for you, I promise.”

“I trust you,” Harry told her. When it came to décor, Harry had no opinions whatsoever.

“Let’s look at how the garden is coming along, shall we?”

She led him across the ballroom to the large doors, and they opened magically as the two approached. Harry gasped at the sight before them, unable to help it.

In the distance the rest of the Malfoy gardens could be seen, dead and dusted with snow. But here, in this wispy bubble of climate-altering magic, it was downright balmy, the air pleasant against the skin of his exposed face and hands. There were rows of rosebushes that were green, though not yet blooming, lining the stone-paved path that led to an open area and a wooden structure that appeared to still be under construction.

“The architect I hired hasn’t fully finished the design for the gazebo, so we’ve only put the frame in,” she explained to him, pointing to it. “But that is where you will stand for the ceremony and say your vows. We’re thinking we’ll paint it white, and have flowered vines growing all along it. It will look very festive.”

She went into more detail, talking about the structure and the roses and how the seating for the guests would be arranged, and Harry half listened and half simply tried to picture it, standing with Draco before all of their friends and family. He _could_ picture it, and the image made his heart jump in his chest.

There were moments, like this, when it would hit him that this was really happening, that he was really getting married.

“I love it,” he said.

She turned to look at him sharply, and for a moment he worried that he had rudely interrupted her in the middle of her explanation. But then she beamed at him, and he had no choice to smile back.

“I’m glad,” she said simply.

“It’s really incredible that you can transform the garden like this. Doesn’t it use a lot of magic? Wouldn’t you have to renew the charms every now and then?”

“The charms are feeding off of surrogate artifacts placed throughout the rose garden.” She pointed to the stone statues of various animals that were standing here and there. “They keep the charms going, and have the added bonus of being nicely decorative.”

“Whose magic are they channeling?” Harry asked, though he thought he knew the answer.

“Mine.”

Harry looked around at all the artifacts. “This is quite a lot. Is it not a drain on you?” He’d used surrogate artifacts before, when he was restoring Grimmauld while still at Hogwarts, but those had taken only a little of his magic, as not much was required to heal the energy in the house. This, though, this was working against nature, and in a large space to boot.

“I do feel the change,” she replied. “But I am a powerful witch, and it is not debilitating.”

He stared at her, unsure what to say. It seemed to be asking a lot for her to do this, just so they could have their wedding outside. On the other hand, it was she who had chosen it in the first place. She obviously knew what she was doing.

“Come now,” she said, running a gentle hand along his arm. “Let’s sit in the parlor and have some lunch, and I’ll show you all that I have planned for you.”

They settled themselves comfortably and Narcissa informed the elves they would like some food. Then she presented Harry with a quite large leather-bound book full of drawings, photographs, and color samples.

“Let me show you what I’m thinking about for the wedding party.”

“All right.” This, Harry could only assume, was going to be his least favorite bit.

“I’m aware that you _and_ my son are electing to wear tuxedos rather than robes.” Her lips were pursed as she said this, indicating her tacit disapproval of the choice, and Harry had to make a concerted effort not to grin. “But I do hope you will allow my tailor to make the tuxedos, so that they are of high quality and fit well.” She opened the book.

“I…” Harry paused, realizing there was no point in arguing. “I suppose that would be fine.”

“And I hope you will consider colors other than black.” She was flipping through the pages now. “Honestly, Muggle men. Must they always wear black when they dress for an occasion? It’s so pedestrian.”

Harry couldn’t help it. He let a chuckle escape him. “What did you have in mind?”

“I have a lovely shade of gray picked out for Draco.” She showed Harry an array of various shades, with names like “pewter,” “ash,” and “fossil,” all which, Harry thought, seemed to not resemble at all the names they were given. She pointed to one that was lighter in shade. “I think this one will suit him nicely, with his eyes. And it has a hint of purple, which will correspond with the colors I’m thinking of for his side of the wedding party.”

“You want to put them in purple? Even the men?”

“If they’ll allow me,” she said tartly.

Harry chuckled some more. He wondered if Blaise and Theo would bother putting up a fight at all, or if they would just accept the inevitable. They _were_ both purebloods, after all, and used to wearing vivid colors in their dress robes. Why should suits be any different?

“So Draco’s tux would be that color?” He could picture that nicely, actually. Draco always looked handsome in gray.

“With a purple tie, to match the rest of the party. I haven't picked the exact shade yet. Perhaps orchid, or violet.”

"Whatever you think," said Harry. "What about my tuxedo?”

She gave him a sweet smile that made him suspect she was about to try and cajole him into something.

“You look best in jewel tones: deep reds, greens, even purples…”

 _Oh Gods, she’s not going to make_ me _wear purple as well, surely,_ he thought in horror.

“And, of course, blue.” She turned the page, and there was another array, this one entirely of shades of deep blue. “This one, I think: ‘midnight.’ Elegant but understated. It’s dark enough to suit your coloring, but it has enough vibrancy that it will make your eyes absolutely stunning.”

Harry looked at the color, undeniable relief rushing through him. He could live with that color. In fact, he rather liked it. He owned a fair number of shirts that shade or something like it, and Draco always responded well to him when he wore them.

“I like that. I think Draco will too.”

“Oh, he will. He won’t be able to take his eyes off of you. Trust me.”

Harry fought a blush and asked, “What were you thinking for my side of the wedding party, then?”

She sighed, sounding put-upon. “That is a bit of a conundrum for me at the moment, as I’d like to have the women in silver.” She closed her eyes. “Elegant silver gowns that will sparkle in the light. Can’t you picture it?” She opened them again. “Miss Granger and Miss Kemp would both look lovely in that. But I’m just not sure about all that silver for the men. Longbottom might be able to pull it off; his hair is dark enough. But your Weasley…” She gave Harry a look, as though it was his fault entirely that his best mate had red hair. “I don’t know what to do about him.”

“You could just put them in black, with silver ties,” he ventured, having no idea if his suggestion would be in taste or not.

“I have considered that,” she said with another sigh, looking through the book some more with a distracted air. “But I have yet to find a solution that satisfies me.”

Harry watched her turn the pages, feeling an unexpected surge of affection for the woman.

“But no matter,” she said. “We can get the tailors working on the other pieces and perhaps inspiration will strike and I will know what to do.” She looked at him. “So, you approve of the colors.”

“I think they’re great,” said Harry, meaning it.

“If we had more time, I would let you think on it for a few days. But I’d like to get the fabric ordered and start in with the fittings right away.”

“That’s fine,” Harry cut in. “I don’t need to think. These are good.”

She gave him a knowing look, but moved on. “Very well. Let’s talk about the reception. I need your choices on flowers and I want to talk over the possibilities for the menu, as well as music.”

Harry took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

An elf brought them finger sandwiches and pumpkin juice, and Harry ate and drank while Narcissa flipped through her sample book some more, showing him various possibilities and occasionally asking for his input. He found himself saying “Whatever you think is best” quite a lot, though Narcissa did push him to make an actual choice once or twice. And he did feel strongly about the music.

“A band for part of the time would be fine,” he said. “But Draco and I have some specific songs we want to play. You know, Muggle songs.”

“And a band couldn’t possibly learn them?” she asked, arching a brow.

“We were thinking we’d prefer to hear the originals.”

“Through one of those Muggle contraptions. A… stereo, it’s called, isn’t it?”

“Well, yes, although for a party you’ll need… large speakers and such, you know, to make sure it’s loud enough.”

She looked at him blankly.

“Magnification charms will probably only interfere with the stereo’s functioning,” Harry explained. “Because of the electricity. You’ll have to do it the Muggle way.”

“This will require electricity.” The realization seemed to hit her like a blow.

Harry faltered, seeing the problem. The manor wasn’t wired for it.

“I will work something out, Harry,” she said, correctly reading his anxious expression. “I will find a way.”

“I’m sorry. I wasn’t really thinking about the fact-“

“Harry,” she interrupted him. “This is your wedding. You should be able to play the music you want. I will find a way.”

Harry looked at her, trying to read her face. “You’re just... already doing so much. Considering the challenge of the climate-altering charms and everything, not to mention-“

“I said I would take care of it,” she cut in again, though gently. “I want to. I will find a way. A list of songs, though, would be appreciated, to make sure we have what we need.”

“I’ll finalize the list with Draco and send it to you.”

“Good then. That’s all I had for the reception.”

“All right.”

“And that leaves us one last thing, for today at least. The rings.”

Harry blinked. “Draco and I both decided on platinum.”

“Yes, I know. I’ve already had them forged.” She took out a small velvet box and placed it on the coffee table in front of them.

“Oh.”

She smiled. “But in pureblood tradition, there is more to the wedding bands than precious metals. There is also magic.”

Harry huffed a laugh. “Of course.”

She opened the box to reveal the simple platinum band resting inside. “This will be Draco’s ring. You will put this on his finger in the final portion of the ceremony.”

Harry picked up the box to look at the ring more closely. It was pristine and shiny, simple but elegant. He’d pictured it in his mind’s eye plenty of times, but seeing it in person… it was impossible not to imagine what it would be like to pick up the small, cold thing and place it on Draco’s finger. He ran a finger over it, lightly, and the gesture felt strangely intimate.

“I have a request, regarding the rings,” Narcissa said, regaining his attention. He placed the box back on the table and looked at her. “It would make me very happy if you were willing to use blood rings for your wedding bands. It is an old pureblood tradition, in light and dark families alike. And, though Draco would hardly want to pressure you about it, I think it would make him quite happy as well.”

“Blood rings,” Harry repeated. “Blood magic?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Perfectly legal, and very common. It’s quite simple, really. It’s a charm placed upon the ring of your choosing.” She tapped on the platinum ring between them. “The charm allows the ring to absorb a drop of your blood and manifest a design that represents your essence. It changes the look of the ring, makes it unique. But, more importantly, it’s symbolic of your commitment. Draco, when he wears this ring,” she tapped the box again, “will, symbolically, be carrying a piece of you with him at all times. It shows his devotion to you, and that your lives are irreversibly intertwined.”

Harry stared at the ring. “So my blood goes in his ring, and his blood in mine?”

She nodded. “Precisely.”

“And that’s all it does? I mean, it changes the design of the ring to match my… essence, or whatever, but that’s all it does?”

“Yes. Like I said, it’s symbolic.”

“And Draco wants this.”

“When I asked him, he said that I should ask you. Which, in my opinion, is his way of saying he would like it, but he doesn’t want to force you into something you don’t want to do.”

Harry considered that. It sounded like Draco, though there was also a chance Narcissa was manipulating him a little. He didn’t hold it against her; she was a Slytherin and a Malfoy, a woman used to getting what she wanted. And what she wanted wasn’t unreasonable.

 _But what do I want?_ He would be wearing this ring for the rest of his life. Did he want something that used blood magic on his finger forever? It was a little creepy.

Then again, it wasn’t as though he was unfamiliar with the use of blood magic. Those surrogate artifacts keeping the rose garden warm outside were using blood magic. It wasn’t unethical.

And it was just a drop of blood. And it would be Draco’s.

 _A part of Draco that I carry with me, always._ He felt warmth pool in his stomach, and that, more than any intellectual consideration on the matter, made the decision for him.

“All right. Then let’s do the blood rings. That’s fine.”

“Lovely,” Narcissa replied. “Would you like to complete the charm right now?”

Harry stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“If you add a drop of blood to this ring, then the charm will be complete. You’ll get to see what Draco’s finished wedding ring looks like.”

“Yeah, all right,” he said. He didn’t much see the harm, and he was curious. “Just one drop?”

“Yes. Just touch the ring with it. Magic will do the rest.”

Harry used his wand to prick his finger, wincing only a little. Narcissa removed the ring from its box and felt it out to him.

The moment his bloody finger touched the ring there was a spark, and then thin coils of magic began to twine themselves around the band. Narcissa’s fingers held it steady; apparently the magic didn’t affect her at all, only the ring, which emitted one final white glow before settling.

Harry easily healed his finger, and he and Narcissa both stared down at the transformed band.

“Very nice,” she said quietly.

Harry agreed. It was a simple design; not much had changed. It was the same platinum band, only now there were lines of gold criss-crossing and wrapping around the band, almost like thin metallic vines.

“Your essence is gold,” Narcissa said, smirking. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

“I think I knew that already,” Harry said, remembering something from the war. “Friends of mine turned into me using polyjuice potion, once. It was that same color.”

“Ah, yes. Polyjuice reflects the essence of a person just like this charm does. The magic to create both has the same ancient roots.”

“Do you know what color my wedding ring will have in it, then, with Draco’s essence added?”

She gave him a coy smile. “Yes. But why don’t we let that be a surprise? Something special on the day? I promise I won’t tell Draco what color this one is either. I won’t even tell him that the charm created the lattice design, though that’s what he cared most about knowing, more than the color.”

“Why?”

“Because the design reflects the love and commitment of the person who provided the blood towards the person who will wear the ring. The lattice is the design that shows the strongest possible bond between two people, a love match. It shows the depth of your commitment and your desire to integrate your life with his in every way.”

“Oh.” Harry thought about that for a minute or two while Narcissa returned the ring to the box and put it safely away. “Was this some kind of test?” he asked her finally. “To see how committed I am?”

She laughed delicately at his frankness. “Historically, it often has been,” she said. “Especially in situations where the families of the betrothed are suspicious of each other or the fidelity and intentions of one or both of the betrothed are in question. That is not the case here, of course. So no, it wasn’t a test. I never had any question about the depth of your devotion to my son, nor his to you.”

“So you think my ring will have the lattice as well, once Draco adds his blood?”

“Knowing Draco, yes. I have no doubt that it will. But let’s still leave it to surprise him, shall we?”

Harry nodded. “Yes, all right.” With the ring put away and the other details covered, Harry figured this was the end of their lunch. He was about to say something about getting back to the office when Narcissa spoke.

“My son loves you very much.”

Harry smiled and stared down at his hands. “I know.”

“He is very committed to you. There is nothing he wouldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t give up, to make sure you stayed in his life.”

Harry stared at her, wondering why she was saying something she must know he already knew.

“He tells me everything, you know,” she went on. “He tells me how much he loves you, and how committed he is, and how wonderful you are. And he tells me when he’s made mistakes. And he tells me when you’ve been good enough to forgive him.”

“Narcissa-“

“He told me about the fight you had.”

“The fight?”

“When he came to me asking for a house elf to help you with managing your home and care of Teddy, he also told me about the fight, about what he did, and the things he said. He was…” She shook her head. “He was so ashamed, Harry. Of not seeing it sooner, of thinking only of his needs – he’s terrified of it, you know, his own selfishness… perhaps he has Lucius and me to blame for it, I don’t know. He’s not terrified of you leaving him as much as he’s terrified that he cannot deserve you, and that his selfishness will make you give too much, and resent him.”

Harry watched her silently until he was sure she wasn’t going to continue. “I know all of this,” Harry said. “We tell each other everything too. We’re talking about it. We’ve been working through it.”

“I know you have. That isn’t why I bring it up.”

“All right…”

“I bring it up because there are two sides to it. Draco was wrong; we all know that. He was taking you for granted, and he wasn’t making time for you and Teddy. He has worked very hard to be better.”

“He has,” Harry agreed.

“But are you working hard to be better about _asking_ for help?”

Harry said nothing for a moment. Narcissa reached toward him and took both of his hands in hers.

“Yes,” Harry said finally, quietly. “I’m working on it.”

Narcissa squeezed his hands tighter. “I want to know, Harry, why, when things were so hard, when Teddy was sick and you were so tired… I want to know why you didn’t call someone. Me, or Molly…”

Harry stared at their clasped hands. “Honestly, I didn’t think of it.”

“Why not?”

“I’m… used to taking care of things on my own, I guess.” He shrugged.

“This is from your childhood, then, the fact that you had to always take care of yourself.”

“Narcissa, I…” He chewed on his lip, wondering if she wasn’t going to like what he was about to say. But he had to be honest. “I don’t like chocking up everything I do to my terrible childhood. It doesn’t help me.”

She sighed. “All right. Then tell me why you didn’t firecall me or Molly. We would’ve helped you in an instant.”

“I told you. I didn’t think of it. Because I’m used to doing things on my own.” He could feel her looking at him, but he looked off into the distance, watching the portrait of an old Malfoy ancestor as he puffed lazily on an ivory pipe. “I thought I could handle it. Merlin knows you both have enough going on. Molly is constantly dealing with crises with her children and grandchildren, and you’ve had Andromeda to take care of, and I know you’ve been doing so much of that because of how Draco and I have been so busy…” He trailed off as he felt Narcissa tighten her grip so much that it hurt.

“Busy caring for Andromeda’s grandson.”

Harry blinked. “Well, yes, but-“

“But that’s not even-“ Narcissa cut herself off, raising her chin and staring stonily back at Harry. “Harry, I don’t even know where to begin.”

Harry stared at her. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You said Molly is always dealing with crises regarding her children and grandchildren, so she doesn’t have time to help you. Since when are you _not_ her child as well?”

“I… I don’t know.” He felt a lump starting to form in his throat. He didn’t like talking about this, or even thinking about it.

“Hasn’t she told you that you are? I’ve heard her say it myself.”

“Yes, but…” Harry swallowed. “It’s not the same.”

“Not the same as what?”

Harry grit his teeth. “I don’t know.”

“Yes you do. Say it. Not the same as what?”

“I’m not _really_ her child. I mean… I know she thinks of me… I know she… I know she would do anything for me. But I can’t ask her to, not when she has six other children and I’m not really… hers.”

Narcissa gripped him hard. “And what about me? You’ve been with my son over five years now. You’re going to marry him. That makes us family.”

“I know we’re going to be family soon. I know I will be your son soon-“

“No, Harry. That’s what I’m trying to tell you. There is no ‘will be.’ There’s only what _already is._ You are _already_ my son.” Her grip loosened a little, and she ran one hand over his gently, leaning forward. “You have been for a long time. Maybe I… I’m not so good at demonstrating my feelings. I’m sure you know that. But I also thought you knew… I _hoped_ that you knew how important you are to me, and how much I care for you. I thought you knew that you could turn to me for anything.”

Harry shook his head, fighting the sting in his eyes for all he was worth. “I think I… know it, you know… in _theory_. But in practice… I don’t think of it. And if I did, I wouldn’t even know _how_ …”

“To ask?”

“Yeah.” Harry freed one of his hands to dash across his eyes. “Or when I’m supposed to ask and when I’m not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want to be a good father to Teddy. I just want to do right by him, you know?” He blinked, unable to stem the tears now, and feeling rather mortified for it. “And I don’t know when I’m supposed to ask for help and when I’m supposed to do it on my own. I’m just… trying to… I’m just doing it as I go, and I never know if it’s right, or-“

“Harry, that’s what parenting _is_. Doing the best you can and never knowing until much later if you’re doing it right. That’s what makes it so terrifying, and that’s why no one can do it alone, including you.” Harry looked at her, and saw that her eyes glistening just as much as his. “You need to stop thinking about _supposed_ to when it comes to asking for help. There is no ‘supposed to.’ When you need help, ask for it. Go to Molly, if you’re more comfortable – as you _are_ her child, by the way, in every way that matters – or ask me. Floo me, or owl me, or send me a Patronus, and I will come running.”

“But what if you’re in France or something?” Harry asked, knowing his voice sounded a bit pathetic. “I wouldn’t want you to-“

“I will get to you by any means necessary,” she interrupted him. “Even if it means Apparating a dozen times. I will do it. And I will be glad to.” She reached out and brushed some moisture from his cheek, and it struck Harry as the most maternal thing she had ever done for him. “My sons are the most important things in my life. Philippe knows and understands this. He has children of his own. He would do the same for them, even though they’re grown.”

Harry chuckled sardonically. “I thought being grown meant being able to handle things on your own.”

Narcissa chuckled too. “That’s an illusion that children have. They think that adults know everything there is to know and can handle any situation. It’s what makes them feel safe. But we know different, don’t we?” Harry nodded. “When Draco was three… oh, I can’t tell you. I was at my wit’s end. He was… well, you know how three-year-olds are, from when Teddy was that age. He was into absolutely _everything_ he could get his little hands on, and his magic… when he threw a tantrum I worried for every fragile object within screaming distance. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I thought I was an absolutely failure as a mother and I was convinced that I wouldn’t survive until he turned four, which was when other people told me he would calm down a bit. So I asked my mother-in-law, Audra – my mother was _not_ someone to go to about advice, you see – what other trials lay ahead, and if I was ever going to get a moment’s peace, or if Draco was going to put me through hell in some way or another until he finally came of age. Do you know what she told me?”

“What?” Harry asked.

“She told me that what I was going through was normal, and that the first thirty years or so were the hardest. But after that, it wasn’t so bad.” She laughed at the memory, and Harry laughed with her. “I resented that answer at the time, to be honest. But she was trying to make a point, and an important one. Parenting is difficult – that, we already knew – but it also never ends. It doesn’t matter if your children have children of their own. They still need guidance; they still have troubles. You aren’t always equipped to help them, but you always do the best you can. Because you would do anything for them, and that, usually, is enough. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Harry breathed in and out a few times, then nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“You have people in your life who love you and want to help you, Harry, with the small things and the large things. Maybe it doesn’t feel the same as having parents. Only you can know that for yourself. But it’s not… it’s not nothing. Please don’t disregard my or Molly’s offers of help because you think we’re only offering them out of courtesy. We offer them out of love, and because we _want_ to see you thrive, and we hate to see you carry all those burdens on your own.”

Harry looked at her and nodded again. He believed her, he thought, this time. It was hard not to.


	28. Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the amazing response to the last chapter! I know I still owe everyone a reply. I've had family in town most of the week (which has been amazing, but also tiring) and my time hasn't been my own. We'll see how many comments I can get to later today!
> 
> It's been a hell of a long time since we've checked in on Hermione, it feels like. Here is a brief glimpse into how things are going for her. We'll get a heftier one from her in a couple of chapters.

(Hermione)

“Hold still a moment, dear.”

Hermione did as she was told, trying not to flinch as measuring tape, scissors, and pins went to work of their own accord all around her. She could never get used to magical fittings for clothing, what with all the charmed and potentially sharp things flying here and there, unseen. She was always convinced she was going to get poked.

Madam Le Roux finished pinning the bust of Hermione’s gown and the brunette was allowed to move her head and neck again as the tailor set to draping the skirt. Hermione glanced to her left, where Vesper stood on another platform, enduring her own fitting for her silver “groomsmaid” gown.

“A perfect way to spend a Saturday afternoon, isn’t it?” the Junior Auror joked, throwing a smile Hermione’s way.

Hermione laughed, which earned her a dirty look from Madam Le Roux. She resisted rolling her eyes and let the woman work, holding herself as still as she could.

“How are you planning to wear your hair?” Vesper asked her. “Down, or will you do some sort of updo?”

“I’m not sure,” Hermione said. “I haven’t really thought about it.”

“Well, your hair would be pretty down, with a barrette or a comb or something, because it’s already interesting. My hair is just boring. I should do something fancy with it but I don’t know anything about doing hair.”

“Nor do I,” Hermione said. “I suppose neither of us are the type to devote a lot of time to it.”

“We've had more important things to worry about,” Vesper agreed with a small smile.

They were silent a moment as their respective tailors worked.

“No doubt Narcissa will have an opinion,” Hermione said. “We’d be better off asking her.” Narcissa had an opinion about _everything_ to do with this wedding, and she appeared to be seeing to every possible detail and, of course, sparing no expense. The fabric for Hermione and Vesper’s gowns, for example, was a special textile of acromantula silk dyed silver-gray and charmed to sparkle like the evening sky. The fabric was called Starlight and was, by Hermione’s estimate, over one hundred galleons a meter. Hermione didn’t know exactly how many meters of fabric were required to make the dress, but whatever the amount, this garment was likely the most expensive thing she would ever wear - second only, perhaps, to her own wedding dress.

“That’s a good point,” Vesper said. She considered a moment. “Maybe she’s _hired_ someone to do our hair. That would be a load off my mind.”

“I wouldn’t put it past her,” Hermione replied drily. Narcissa Black was undoubtedly in the “why do something yourself if you could hire someone to do it” contingent of people – in other words, the very, very wealthy. Hermione had always been raised to think the opposite. Her parents had encouraged her to be independent from a young age, and know how to do things for herself so she didn’t have to rely on someone else to do it for her. She was generally glad for it. Her independent streak had always served her well.

Though it did have its down sides.

Hermione shook her head and focused back on the fitting, as Madam Le Roux now wanted to know about length of the skirt and what shoes she was planning to wear. Hermione answered her questions and tried very deliberately to drive any thoughts of her parents from her mind. She spent enough time these days thinking about them as it was, since she was visiting them at least once a week and keeping a close eye on their treatment.

Her father was progressing nicely; he was now able to speak, though he gave primarily one-word answers. But Jean Granger’s treatment wasn’t going very well. Progress had been stalled for a while, though Hermione knew the Healers were doing everything they could. But they had hit a wall they didn’t know how to scale. Hermione’s mother could speak, but she still had no idea who she was or who anyone else was, and she didn’t seem to have much short-term memory either. Every time Hermione visited she had to remind Jean of who she was, and Jean never seemed to understand.

It was incredibly frustrating, especially since Hermione had also hit a wall with her own research. She kept hoping for a breakthrough, some strike of inspiration that would wake her in the night and make her realize what she had to do. But nothing had come, and she had so little time to spend on it, what with her job at the DTF and caring for Ron, that any headway she was making was virtually negligible.

 _Stop thinking about it_ , she reminded herself. It didn’t do any good.

“All right, you’re done,” Madam La Roux said.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. Lift your arms, please.”

Hermione did so as the other witch waved her wand, and that sparkling silver dress slid up and over Hermione’s head, the luxurious silk slithering pleasantly across her bare skin. Hermione, now in only her slip, murmured thanks to the tailor and then made for the changing rooms to redress.

“I shall sew the garment and inform Ms. Black when it is ready. You will need to come in for a final fitting after the holidays.”

“Great,” Hermione said with a small smile. She was quite glad for it nearly to be done.

Vesper was finished only a few minutes later, and the two women walked out of the shop together.

“Do you want to grab a drink?” Vesper asked her. “Or do you have get back home to Ron?”

Hermione cast a quick Tempus Charm. It was perhaps a bit early for a drink, at least for her, but she thought she could rather use one.

“A drink would be great. Harry and Teddy have been with Ron all afternoon so he’s fine. He won’t mind. He’d probably like more time with his best mate anyway.”

“Great,” Vesper said with a genuine smile. They walked down Diagon Alley and found a pub that was quiet and mostly empty. Vesper ordered a double of Ogden’s and Hermione a glass of mead, and the two witches found a table in the corner.

“How is Ron doing, by the way?” Vesper asked after taking a small sip of her firewhiskey. “It’s been so weird not having him around the office. I miss his presence. He was very… stabilizing.”

Hermione nodded. She could see that. Ron was steady, reliable. “He’s doing really well. He’s been following all of his instructions and the arm is healing nicely.”

“That’s good.”

“He’s out of the sling now, which has helped a lot.”

“Mm, right. I heard that from Harry. He still has to be careful though, right?”

“Right. He’s not supposed to strain the arm at all, and he has to go in every other week for treatments to siphon off the excess dark magic.”

Vesper shuddered. “That’s pretty… creepy to think about, if I’m being honest.”

“I know, especially since it was affecting his magic a lot at first. It’s better now. He can do basic spells easily and most intermediate ones without a problem. Once he can do more advanced light magic, like the Patronus Charm, for example, they’ll declare him fit to return to work.”

“And then he has to stay behind a desk again, though, right?”

Hermione nodded. “For another four to six months probably.”

Vesper shook her head, as though this was unfathomable. “Poor Ron.”

“I know.” Hermione toyed with the stem of her glass. “But, if I’m being perfectly honest, a big part of me is relieved. At least behind a desk he’ll be safe.”

Vesper thought about that as she savored her whiskey. “It’s a real worry, then. No matter what gender you are.”

“I’m sorry?” Hermione replied, not understanding.

“No, sorry,” Vesper shook her head and let out a small huff of laughter. “That was out of nowhere. I was just thinking… What you said made me think about Blaise. When I first joined the Aurors he was getting all paternalistic on me about being safe and choosing a career where I wasn’t in danger. I mean… I _thought_ he was being paternalistic, like, doing the male pureblood thing where he thinks he knows what’s best for me better than I know myself. But, I don’t know… maybe that wasn’t it. Maybe he was just… worried.”

Hermione nodded. “If I were to guess, I would say it’s the latter. Blaise may be a pureblood and have some more… traditional notions about relationships than the rest of us, but he’s never been a misogynist.”

“No, I know that. I would never have been with him in the first place if he was.”

“From what I could tell, he always _liked_ that you’re strong and athletic and could take him easily in a duel. That never bothered him.”

“So long as I’m not risking my life.”

Hermione gave her a gentle smile. “That’s not paternalism, Vesper. That’s just… love.”

Vesper licked her lips and stared into her drink. “Yeah.”

They were silent for a minute or two, sipping their drinks. Hermione decided to take a chance, since they were on the subject, and see if she could glean some information.

“So, you’re still choosing to take space from him then?”

Vesper glanced up at her. “Yes. It’s what I need right now.”

Hermione took another sip of mead. “Can I ask why?”

The Auror eyed her a moment. “Are you asking for Blaise, or for you?”

“I would never talk to Blaise about anything you said to me,” Hermione replied, taken aback. “Just as much as the reverse is true.” She realized the moment after she said it what she was implying. But then, yes, Blaise _did_ talk to Hermione about Vesper sometimes, and Vesper had a right to know that at least, though not the content of what was said.

“Right. Of course. I know that.” Vesper was staring at the table like she was memorizing the grain in the wood. She was silent for long enough that Hermione wondered if she wasn’t going to get an answer. It was long enough that Hermione had plenty of time to contemplate how _unlike_ herself Vesper seemed, just now. “Look,” Vesper said finally. But she didn’t finish right away, instead shifting uncomfortably in her chair. “It’s mostly… A lot of it is that I-“ She shifted again. “Ok.” She met Hermione’s eyes before looking away again. “Have you ever…? Have you ever had a secret, one that if you told the person you love, it would hurt them? That if you told, it might hurt you too?”

Hermione was seized by a moment of panic, irrationally believing that somehow Vesper knew about her parents. But it passed quickly. No one knew. Or hardly anyone. And if she knew, Vesper would have said something by now. She wouldn’t use a roundabout strategy like this to get Hermione to confess.

No, Vesper was really talking about herself here.

“Yes, I have.”

Vesper nodded. “Well…” She sighed heavily. “There’s something I’ve been keeping from Blaise because it’s better if he doesn’t know. I genuinely think it wouldn’t do any good for him to know. I want to spare him pain. So I’m choosing not to tell him. But…” She glanced away, across the room. “It’s messing with my head a little, right now. I just don’t think I’m ready to… I don’t know. I don’t know how to be with him and not tell him. So I’m choosing to not be with him, at least until I can figure that part out. I need to be able to be done with… the secret, let it be really dead and buried, before I can be with him again. I know how it sounds,” she added, when Hermione didn’t reply right away. “I know what you think I should do. But trust me when I say it’s more complicated than that.”

“I wouldn’t jump to conclusions just yet,” Hermione found herself saying. “You don’t know what I’m thinking.”

Vesper shrugged. “I figured you were thinking what just about anyone would be thinking in this situation: that honesty is the most important thing in a relationship, and that secrets are unhealthy. It’s what anyone… it’s what people _say_ , you know? Anyone who’s looking from the outside, who’s not inside the situation… It’s what they would say.”

“Which is exactly why I’m not saying it,” Hermione said. “You asked me if I had carried around a secret like that. I have. So I know. Some secrets are dangerous because they are kept. But some are dangerous because they are told. Only you can know what kind it is. And if you say it would be dangerous or damaging to tell him, then who am I to say otherwise?”

Vesper stared at her, and Hermione found herself tensing, waiting for the question.

 _What secret are_ you _keeping?_

But Vesper didn’t ask that. Instead she said, “You haven’t asked me what it is, either.”

“That surprises you?”

“Honestly? Yeah,” said Vesper with the ghost of a smirk on her lips. “Given what I know about you, and how you like to know things.”

Hermione chuckled. “Fair enough.” Truth be told, her mind was already generating possibilities for what it might be, dismissing some and keeping others. The obvious thing would be infidelity, that Vesper had cheated. But she didn’t think that was it. It was too obvious, and not really something she thought Vesper would ever do. Then again, maybe everyone was capable of something like that, in the right circumstances. Hermione had to admit that even when Blaise and Vesper were still together, she knew very little about the inner workings of their relationship. “Everyone is entitled to their secrets, though. I don’t necessarily think that just because you’re close to someone it means that you have to bare your soul _all_ the time. I think it’s all right for there to be things that belong to you, and you alone.”

Vesper nodded. “I agree, I think. I just worry sometimes. Sometimes I’m afraid I’ll never be ready to be with Blaise again.”

“Well…” Hermione considered that. “You have to weigh the costs, I suppose. Of telling or not telling. You have to decide what price you’re not willing to pay.”

To her surprise, Vesper laughed. “You’re not like anyone else I know, Hermione. Harry or Ron… I bet they would tell me to trust my instincts, to do what I feel is right. And Draco would tell me to be honest no matter what. But you, you’re such a pragmatist.”

“Draco is a pragmatist too,” Hermione pointed out.

Vesper rolled her eyes. “Not when it comes to _love_.” She dragged the last word out, with almost a mocking edge. “When it comes to relationships he thinks love can heal all things and I should just be honest because that’s what people who love each other do. If we love each other, then we can survive everything.”

“You sound like you’re quoting him.”

“I basically am. He once told me that in the first year of their relationship he and Harry decided they would tell each other everything. _Everything._ And he was all…” She shook her head. “I can’t describe it. He was all… dreamy and smiley about it, like it was the best thing in the world.” She sighed, fighting a smile. “He’s just a big romantic softie, is what he is.”

“And you’re not?” Hermione asked, amused.

“Not like that.” Vesper’s expression turned dark, and she downed the rest of her whiskey in one gulp. “I’ve been hurt too many times.”

Hermione rested her chin on her hand and stared at the other witch. It wasn’t that she hadn’t known that Vesper was as complicated and multi-sided as anyone else she knew. But she hadn’t considered that there might be things the American was carrying around that she didn’t let anyone else see. She was so open, confident, and frank otherwise.

“If you can’t tell Blaise,” she found herself saying. “You could tell… someone else. I’m not saying it has to be me or anything,” she added quickly. “I just mean… just _someone_ , someone you trust. I mean… it _could_ be me. I would never tell anyone.”

Vesper looked at her with her mouth half-open, as if about to speak. She took a few shallow, shaky breaths and then held it, poised, her back straight and ready…

And then her eyes dropped to the table again, and she said, “I appreciate that. I’ll think about it.”

Hermione swallowed the small pebble of disappointment that had formed in her throat, and simply nodded. Had she really expected Vesper to confide in her something she hadn’t told anyone? They were friends, certainly, and their friendship was deepening. Or so Hermione hoped. But Vesper was closer to Harry and Draco, and if she hadn’t even told _them_ …

And she was also remembering her own secrets, and the impossible, painful hurdle that had to be cleared even just to tell one person. And she knew she could hardly blame Vesper for holding back.

***

When Hermione arrived at home Harry and Teddy were still there, which hardly surprised her. She walked into the kitchen to find the five-year-old at the table with his coloring book while Harry and Ron were chatting and cooking together simultaneously.

“You’re cooking?” she asked, by way of greeting.

Ron grinned at her, looking brighter and happier than he had all week. His best mate’s company was obviously good for him.

“Harry volunteered,” Ron said.

“Ron told me all you’ve been managing around the house,” Harry chimed in, coming over to give her a hug. “I thought it was the least I could do to help you out.”

She hugged him back tightly before pulling back and looking at his smiling face. He too was looking livelier than ever. Certainly better rested. Being engaged suited him.

“In that case,” she told him. “I do hope you two are planning to stay for dinner.”

“Only if we’re not imposing,” Harry said, more out of obligation than anything, and Hermione waved him off. “How was the fitting, by the way?”

“Good, I think. The fabric Narcissa picked out is really lovely. And obscenely expensive.”

“Of course,” said Harry, seeming outright giddy about it. “She showed me actually, before she officially ordered it. I think they’ll turn out really well.”

Hermione suppressed her amusement at Harry’s newfound enthusiasm for the wedding preparations. She never imagined in her wildest dreams that he would be invested in such things. Apparently Narcissa Black had a convert.

Conversation continued to be centered around the wedding preparations as the men finished cooking dinner. Hermione settled herself next to Teddy and watched her two best friends talk and joke and laugh, and tried to feel content.

 _So much_ in her life was good. She needed to remember that.

Teddy became the center of attention as dinner was served, although it was clear that the boy was equally excited about his adoptive dads getting married, so talk returned to that frequently over the course of the meal. Eventually Harry, perhaps subconsciously sensing that the topic was wearing thin, encouraged Teddy to talk of other things, which wasn’t an issue. All Harry had to do was steer the conversation towards Teddy’s current favorite books and he was off and running, giving Hermione a detailed description of the collection currently resting on his bookshelf at home. Hermione smiled and nodded while Teddy talked, the boy only pausing briefly to take a bite of dinner when his godfather reminded him to finish his food.

Hermione felt warmth pooling in her chest at the sight of them, effectively driving out any strange or melancholy feelings that were left over from her conversation with Vesper. Harry and Teddy seemed more like father and son than ever, and it was so gratifying to see. It gave her hope.

When dinner was finished the two visitors quickly took their leave. Draco was due home that evening and Teddy was allowed to stay up and wait for him so long as he was bathed and ready for bed at the usual time. Teddy had agreed readily to that, obviously anxious to see his “other dad,” who had been working hard at the hospital recently so he could have Christmas off plus take a week for their honeymoon.

“The whole wedding sounds like a real rush job,” Hermione commented to Ron. Hugs and goodbyes had already been exchanged with Harry and Teddy, and the couple was alone. They were doing the dishes together, Ron washing while Hermione dried. “I understand why they wouldn’t want to wait, but it seems more stressful than it’s worth.”

“I don’t know,” said Ron, rinsing a small pot and handing it to her to dry. “I can see the appeal. For it to come together so fast, it has to be a lot simpler, just in its very nature, doesn’t it?”

Hermione watched him as he scrubbed a spatula. “Do you wish we had kept it simple?” she asked him.

Ron shrugged. “I think our wedding will be lovely. I think when it finally arrives, it will be a very happy day. I just wish it was sooner. In fact, I sort of wish we were already married.”

“It’s not too late to elope, you know.”

Ron chuckled. “Right before the holidays? Right before Harry and Draco’s wedding? Everyone would be furious with us.”

“Yes, I suppose we’d be stealing Harry and Draco’s thunder a bit, in that case. Of course, they stole ours to begin with.” That ungenerous thought was one she felt she could only share with Ron and no one else, the slight resentment she felt that somehow, as with other things, Harry and Draco were getting to do it first. She knew it was petty, and she certainly wasn’t going to let it ruin things for her two good friends. But she had the uncharitable feeling sometimes, all the same.

“Nah,” said Ron, unplugging the sink and letting the soapy water drain out. “By the time May rolls around, the holidays and their wedding will feel like ages ago. People will still be excited. Especially my mum and Ginny.”

Hermione sighed. “You’re right.” They finished cleaning the kitchen in silence, as Hermione contemplated one other thing she had to talk to Ron about. It was something she was dreading, because she knew she would have to lie.

“Listen,” she said as Ron was scrubbing the kitchen island. “About the holidays.”

“Yeah?” Ron said, not looking up.

“It looks like my parents aren’t going to be able to make it to the Burrow this year. In fact, they’re going to be spending the entire holiday on their own, they’ve decided.”

Ron looked at her now. “Really.”

Hermione nodded.

“Why?”

She shrugged. “It’s what they want. They’re going abroad. I suppose they just want to get out of the country for a while.”

“Where abroad?”

Hermione resisted the urge to furrow her brow, surprised that Ron was asking for details. “Skiing in the Alps, I believe.”

“And you don’t want to join them?”

Hermione opened her mouth, unsure of what to say.

“We could join them, is what I’m saying.”

Hermione shook her head. “No. We’ve already committed to spending the holidays with your family. It’s what we agreed.”

“We could split our time. You have a week off for the holiday, don’t you?”

“It’s fine, Ron, really.”

He was looking at her steadily now, no longer scrubbing the countertop. “Your family is just as important as mine, you know.”

Hermione nodded infinitesimally. “I know that.” She swallowed. “But it just doesn’t make any sense this year. We are quite busy, and you wouldn’t be able to ski anyway, with your arm and all, so…”

Ron considered that, then went back to cleaning. “That’s true. I just don’t want your family to... to feel neglected, get swept under the rug, that’s all.”

“No,” Hermione replied softly. “Of course not.” She cleared her throat. “Next year. It will be easier then. The wedding will be done, you’ll be fully healed, and if my parents want to go abroad again for the holiday we can be free to join them. This year, we’ll stick with the Weasley clan. It will be all right. It will be fun, I think.” Her fiancé didn’t look at her right away, his eyes fixed on his work. “Ron?”

He looked up at her finally, his face impassive. “Yeah,” he said. “All right.”

“Good,” she breathed. She gave him a peck on the lips. “I was thinking of taking a bath. Care to join me?”

He smiled softly. “You know I never say no to that.”

She kissed him again, deeper this time. “Yes. I know.”


	29. Fair Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Time to check in on Vesper and how the case is going! Thanks to all of you reading this for sticking with it and letting things unfold. And also for your patience as I slowly catch up on comment responses! Your thoughts and feedback mean so much to me and help me keep writing. I am starting to run out of chapters to post but am trying to write more every day and keep this story going.
> 
> All my love to you! <33

(Vesper)

Draco sat down across from Vesper at the rickety cafeteria table in a swirl of blue Healer robes and a soft _thump_ that made the feet of his chair scrape a bit on the tiles. Vesper got the impression, from that alone, that the man had been rushing about all day to the point that he hadn’t yet had the opportunity to be still. She smiled at him.

“I bought you a tea,” she said, scooting the full and steaming mug towards him.

“Cheers, thanks,” he said, his smile genuine, if not a bit flustered. “This was just what I needed.”

“Hard day?”

“Just busy. I’m assigned to the spell damage ward this week, which gets a lot of emergency cases. Means I’m being pulled in a thousand different directions.”

“Am I keeping you from something important?” Vesper asked anxiously. When she’d requested this meeting with Draco to review the details of this serial murder case, she had assumed he would be honest about whether or not he could manage it.

“No, it’s fine. I needed a break. Should have taken one hours ago, if I’m honest, but it’s easy to get caught up in things here and let time get away from you.”

“You haven’t had a break yet today?”

He shrugged. “No, not really.”

“Have you eaten anything?”

Draco considered that. “I can’t remember.”

Vesper huffed, exasperated, and, before Draco could protest, she left and went to the food cart, grabbing some quick items for Draco to eat. She was starting to realize that there was something about this Healer job that made Draco not take such great care of himself while he was on shift. She hoped he would get better about that.

“Eat up,” she told him when she returned, dumping a variety of pre-packaged foods in front of him. “Come on, you need to keep your energy up.”

Draco nodded finally, reluctantly, and opened one of the sandwiches. Vesper heaved a sigh of relief and sat back down in her seat.

“So, the case?” Draco asked her after he’d swallowed a bite of sandwich.

“Right,” said Vesper and opened her bag to extract the redacted version of the file for Draco to look at, as well as the consultant's agreement that he was required to sign. “You have to read and sign the form first, unfortunately. Obviously I trust you implicitly, but the Corps needs us to to everything by the book for this. It's pretty basic," she added as Draco picked up the form to look it over. "It just says that you agree to not disclose anything we discuss about the case, and certifies that what we talk about is limited to your area of expertise, namely Healing. I won't be able to give you any other details of the case or put it in context for you, as much as I’d like to.”

Draco nodded, frowning pensively as he continued to read.

"It also guarantees you to a small consultant's stipend, for you trouble," she added with a hopeful smile.

“It's fine, Ves,” Draco replied warmly. “You must know I'm already very familiar with the concept of confidentiality. And paperwork.”

“Of course.” Her smile turned grateful as he signed the document with a flourish. She handed him the redacted file. “These are photos of the victims.” she explained. “You’ll be able to see the wounds quite clearly.”

Draco’s half-eaten sandwich went temporarily forgotten as he looked at said photographs with a sober expression. His eyes scanned the wounds, assessing the details.

“All the victims wounds are the same size?” he asked.

“Exactly the same.”

He skimmed the notes. “And the magical core was removed in each case? You’re sure of that?”

“Yes, we’re sure. The autopsies told us as much.”

“This is very… strange,” he said.

“I know.”

“What do you need from me?”

“Well, initial impressions, I suppose. But also… We just don’t know much, at this point, about what is actually required to successfully remove the magical core intact from a body. It’s never been done before, right? So…”

“Intact magical cores,” Draco said softly, almost to himself. “What purpose could that possibly serve?”

Vesper didn’t reply to that. She wasn’t allowed to.

“I’m only a Junior Healer, you know,” Draco said, looking up from the file.

“I know. But we’re supposed to meet with people we trust, people who will behave with professionalism. And I also had this idea…” It was Mac, really who had made her think of it. All his talk of "fresh eyes" and how important it was for long-time Aurors to not get too stuck in their ways. She could easily imagine how that could apply to Healers as well. "This is about theory more than it is about experience, really, since no Healer has likely seen anything like this before. And since you went to Healing school pretty recently and learned a lot of theory, I thought you might have a fresh approach.”

“Fair point,” Draco conceded, after a moment.

“So, any thoughts on what method the person might have used to slice out the core?”

Draco sighed, lost in thought. Then his eyebrows rose. “Well, there is one thing.”

“What?”

“These cores weren’t _sliced_ out at all.”

“What do you mean? The cores are gone. We’ve seen that in every-“

“No, I mean… Yes, they were removed. But not by any kind of slicing charm.”

Vesper blinked at him. “How do you know?”

“The wounds. They’re so smooth and clean, and _perfectly_ circular. And uniform from one victim to the next. That’s just… not possible. Not for a human hand.”

“There isn’t a charm that will do that?”

“Not that I’ve ever heard of. We learned about the different ways to cut human flesh in second year. Turns out there are really only three. There’s _sectumsempra_ , which is dark and illegal and never used by Healers since it is violent and unwieldy.” He rubbed at his own chest subconsciously for a moment. “Then there’s a charm for extracting a blood sample, which is very quick and minimally invasive. And then there is the Scalpel Charm, which allows a Healer to cut someone open in order to perform surgery. We don’t use it much, as we try to Heal patients with other charms that aren’t so invasive. But when we have to, that’s the one we use, because it gives us the most control while being powerful enough to cut through muscle. But even if you are an expert with a Scalpel Charm and have the best control in the world, you couldn’t possibly do something this… perfect, this pristine.”

Vesper looked at the photographs that were now resting on the table between them. She’d gotten use to looking at them now, and could take an almost clinical approach to them, despite their grisly nature. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Slicing on a curve, for one thing…” He did a motion over the table with his hand, like he was holding his wand and drawing a circle with it. “It’s just difficult. Awkward. We’re taught to slice in straight lines. It’s just easier to be accurate that way.”

Vesper nodded. “So if a slicing charm had been used, the murderer would have cut a square out of the person, instead of a circle, to get at the core.”

“Most likely. They would have made a shape with straight lines, at any rate. There would be no reason to try and slice out a circle. They’re nearly impossible to draw perfectly as it is.”

“A very good point.” 

“On top of that,” Draco said, bringing the photograph very close to his face. “The wounds appear to be cauterized. Look.”

He pointed, and Vesper leaned over the photograph with him. But her inexpert eyes couldn’t see what he saw.

“I don’t remember that being in the notes.”

“Well, based on coloring, and on the neatness of the wound, I’d say it’s the most likely explanation.”

“So what does that mean? The culprit used something hot to cut out the core?”

“Yes. Which means it was probably made of metal.”

“Like a knife?”

“It can’t be a knife or a scalpel or anything like that,” said Draco. “Because the same issues apply as with the Scalpel Charm. No one could cut that perfectly with a knife, _every_ time.”

“Yeah.” Vesper rubbed her bottom lip. “You know… it’s really like… As morbid as it is to say it, it reminds me of dough that’s been stamped with a cookie-cutter.”

“I beg your pardon?” said Draco. “What are you talking about?”

“A cookie-cutter. You know, to make cookies uniform in shape. It’s a metal circle, sometimes with a handle, and you-”

“Cookies? You mean like biscuits?”

Vesper rolled her eyes. “Yes, that’s what I mean.” The British definition of a biscuit had always irritated her. Biscuits, where she came from, were soft, fluffy, and chock full of butter, and best eaten with strawberry jam or, better yet, sausage gravy. Or fried chicken.

Gods, she missed fried chicken.

“Ooooh,” Draco said, pulling Vesper from her suddenly hungry thoughts. “Yes, I see what you mean. It’s like the murderer used a template. That’s how the wounds are all uniform.”

“Exactly.”

“This is getting stranger and stranger.”

“I agree,” said Vesper absently. She reached for a pasty from the pile of food in front of them while she mulled over all of the new information. “So it’s a template in some form. Maybe something not unlike a cookie-cutter, or biscuit-cutter, I mean. Something sharp enough to cut flesh and hot enough to cauterize, maybe, and then…” It was unpleasant to think about, but she made herself consider it anyway. “Once the hole has been cut there still has to be some way to remove the core intact, which _has_ to be a delicate process, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Draco. “We are taught to be very careful around it. If we do have to cut open a patient for some reason, it’s damage to the core that is always the greatest risk. The membrane is thin, for one thing. But it also has a radius of magical energy around it, to protect itself. It’s powerful enough to damage our wands if we get too close.”

Vesper considered that. “How big is the radius?”

“About a centimeter and a half.”

“So that’s three centimeters total, if you count both sides, surrounding the core.”

“Correct.”

“And the core itself is…?”

“About two centimeters in diameter.”

“So that’s a diameter of five centimeters from one side of the magical energy to the other.”

“Yes.” Draco demonstrated the length with his fingers for Vesper to see.

She looked at the notes on the wounds. “Six centimeters across,” she murmured. “Big enough to encapsulate the whole thing with only a little room to spare. Whoever did this is very precise.”

“They would have to be,” said Draco. “Luckily, the magical core is very easy to pinpoint. It always resides in the same place, which can be measured easily from the outside using a person’s belly-button as a… landmark, as it were.”

“So they wouldn’t need a lot of wiggle room to perform the procedure accurately.”

“Not if they know anything about magical anatomy.”

“Well they clearly know a lot,” said Vesper. But she was sure the Murder Squad was already following that lead, looking for suspects with backgrounds in Healing or Mediwizardry. Her job was to think about what tool could possibly have made this wound, and what tool could possibly have extracted the core. “Maybe they’re one in the same,” she said aloud. “Maybe it’s all one thing.”

“Sorry, what?”

“Maybe it’s-“ She cut herself off, realizing she shouldn’t share the full thought aloud. Because she was starting to suspect that whatever cut the holes in the victims was also the device that trapped and then stored the magical cores, and maybe it was that device that was the bomb itself. And that meant-

“Vesper?”

She looked up at her friend the Healer, remembering that he was there. “I’m sorry, Draco, I have to go. I think I’ve figured something out and I have to tell my partner.”

Draco smiled. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it?”

“Very much so. And I couldn’t have done it without you. So thank you.”

Draco looked genuinely pleased. “Happy to help.”

She stood, then bent to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Say hello to your boys for me.”

“Will do. And we’ll see you for the holiday party at the manor, yeah?”

“Of course.” Narcissa Black’s Christmas Eve party was always an elaborate and well-attended affair since they had begun the tradition four years ago. Vesper was actually surprised she was throwing one this year, given that she was also throwing a wedding only a few weeks later. But Narcissa Black also never did anything by halves. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”

With a final wave goodbye Vesper made for the visitor’s floo, planning to go directly to the Ministry and relay her theory to her partner, while it was still clear in her head.

***

She found him at desk. The department office was empty, save for him, and in a way she was glad of this. She wanted to know his take on her findings before it was shared with the rest of the group. She was growing more comfortable with him from week to week, having finally gotten over the habit of calling him “sir” and now just calling him Mac, like everyone else.

“I’ve gathered some very interesting information this morning,” she said to him, sitting down at her desk, which sat caddy-corner to his.

If he was bothered by her lack of greeting or preamble, he didn’t show it. He merely set down his quill and looked up from his paperwork, fixing her with his usual sharp stare. 

“That’s always a nice way to begin the day,” he said. “What have you found?”

She pulled out the redacted file she’d shown Draco, letting Mac see it so at least he would know for sure which case they were about to discuss. He likely already knew, given that this case was taking up most of their time and energy at the moment.

“I went to see a Healer friend of mine,” she said, knowing he would want her to cut to the chase, “about the wounds. It looks like we’ve been making a few false assumptions about the way that the cores were removed from the victims, and with what.”

She had notes to show him, but he shooed them away. “Tell me. I want to hear it out loud, so I can think.”

She nodded, reminded that he always preferred hearing information, rather than reading it. “The wounds weren’t made by magic. My friend told me there is no slicing spell that could perform a circular incision this perfectly. He says we can eliminate a knife or a scalpel for similar reasons. It can’t have been done by hand. Some kind of object did this. Something the same size and shape as the wounds themselves.”

Mac looked down at the photographs in the file as she spoke, taking that in. “It makes sense,” he said quietly, as if to himself. “Did he have any theories as to what kind of object could do this?”

“Nothing specific, no,” Vesper said. “But…” She eyed him a moment. “I have a theory. It… makes a few leaps, though.”

“Go on,” Mac said, his expression merely interested.

“I keep thinking about a metal circle, like a template you would use to cut biscuits. It would have to be very sharp in order to cut through flesh like that.”

“Sure...”

“But the metal is also hot, probably. Very hot. My friend also thinks the wounds look cauterized, since they sealed so cleanly.”

Mac’s eyes went briefly to the photos again. “All right…”

“And the core itself is also very fragile and protected by a small magical shield, so it can’t be picked up by hand, and it has to be stored very carefully.”

“I’m following you so far,” Mac said, as if trying to move things along.

Vesper knew she was stalling a bit, but she also was a little nervous about sharing her theory. It might sound incredibly stupid out loud. “I’ve been thinking about Occam’s Razor,” she said. “You mentioned it the other week, about how the simplest solution to a mystery is usually the correct solution. Minimum energy, right?”

Mac merely nodded now.

“What if the killer created a device to extract the core from the body? It’s really the only explanation that fits the evidence. The killer couldn’t have done it by hand. They would _need_ a device of some sort, likely of their own invention, since this kind of extraction was unheard of up until now. And, if the killer created a device for extraction, doesn’t the principle of minimum energy tell us that the same device is most likely used for storage as well? Why would they transfer it to another vessel and risk damaging it, if they didn’t have to? And then I thought…” Vesper went on, pausing a moment for breath. She was on a roll now. “And then I thought about how if the device is likely the same for extraction and for storage, then it is also just as likely to be the same for usage, for… for detonation.”

“The bomb itself.”

“Exactly,” Vesper said, sighing. “The bomb itself. What if they’re all one in the same?”

“Then the bomb would be much smaller than what we first assumed.”

“I know,” Vesper said. “And it’s all theoretical, obviously. No less so than the massive bomb theory...”

“No, but a far more elegant theory, all told,” Mac said, which Vesper found encouraging enough to allow her to continue.

“There’s a chance that all the devices storing a core fit together to make some larger weapon,” she said. “But I _do_ have to wonder… what if… what if the person or persons responsible for this aren’t making one big weapon, but a bunch of smaller weapons? A single core can still do plenty of damage, right? What of their target isn’t all of London, but specific _parts_ of London? With multiple, smaller bombs, the perps can be more specific with their targets. They could target just Muggle neighborhoods, pro-Muggleborn organizations, or the underground…”

“Or the Ministry, or even just the Auror department,” Mac added soberly, and Vesper looked at him, wide-eyed. “I’ve been thinking about this, actually. Because based on the Adders’ actions so far, they seem much less obsessed with Muggles and Muggleborns, much less than Robards seems to insist anyway.”

Instinctively, Vesper looked about the room, her neck feeling strange and prickly talking about their boss that way. But no one was around. She leaned in closer. “You think they’re going after Aurors, like they did with the attack on the retreat?”

Mac nodded. “I do.”

“But they’re neo-Death Eaters. And Death Eaters were against spilling magical blood, if they could help it.”

“Ideologies change,” Mac said. “And so do agendas. Not that I think the Adders are thrilled to have Muggleborns so prominent nowadays, but I think their bigger issue is with authority, with the people in power. I think they want that power for themselves, and I also think that the oldest members of the group, the ones who really _were_ Death Eaters, not so long ago… I think they’re holding a grudge against the Aurors, for the way their comrades were treated after Voldemort’s defeat. It was a messy time, I can tell you that. There was some gray ethics involved… not our finest hour, in some ways.”

“I’m sure you all did what was necessary. It was war. Those people were criminals - terrorists, essentially.”

“Torture, even in the name of justice, is torture,” Mac said. “Excessive violence breeds excessive violence.”

“Aurors… tortured people?” Vesper found that very hard to believe.

"There are… stories,” Mac said, shifting in his seat. “It was all hushed up, but there were a few stories that got around, stories about very angry Aurors who saw it as their responsibility to put the criminals in their place. Aurors who didn’t think Death Eaters deserved a fair trial. So they took matters into their own hands.”

“And the ones that got away, the ones that formed the Green Adders… they want revenge.”

“It’s a theory,” said Mac. “Like everything else. All we have is theory.”

“They’re going to attack the Ministry.”

“Maybe. It seems a likely target, at any rate.”

“Does Robards know you think that?”

Mac nodded slowly. “Yes, he’s aware of my theory. It would be wrong of me not to share it.”

“And what was his reaction?” Vesper asked, though she thought she might know the answer.

“He disagrees,” Mac said mildly. “As he must, I suppose, if he’s going to continue to deny any wrongdoing on the part of the Aurors at the end of the war. To acknowledge we’re a specific target means acknowledging the Adders’ motives, which would point the finger back at us. And he can’t do any of that so openly.”

“He should,” Vesper said. “Transparency is always better. The acts of a few Aurors doesn’t _have_ to reflect on all of us, not if we hold them accountable. Covering it up makes us all look guilty.”

“I don’t disagree,” Mac said. “But I’m not running the Corps, and neither are you. It’s out of our hands.” He sighed. “The good news is, while Robards can’t openly acknowledge that my theory has merit, he can prepare for an attack on the Ministry under the guise of doing his due diligence. That’s why I told him my theory in the first place.”

“You knew how he would react,” Vesper said.

“Yes.”

“You’re very good at that.”

His mouth twitched. “I’ve been doing this a long time, Kemp.”

Vesper considered, not for the first time, how glad she was that she had ended up with Mac as a partner. Ron had chosen well for her. He had plenty of wisdom to share, but he also always listened to her perspective, even when it sounded far-fetched. It made her want to share something else she had been thinking, something she wasn’t sure he would take well.

“Something else is bothering me, about what I learned this morning.”

“Tell me,” Mac said, without hesitation.

“This case is turning out to be far more tech-heavy than we realized initially. I mean, a giant magical bomb is one thing, but _this_ … if my theory is even partially correct, then this device is going to end up looking about as Muggle as it is magical, a blend of the two, which is not how wizards have traditionally done things. Especially not wizards with blood supremacist ideologies. They shy away from anything Muggle, don’t they? They reject it.”

“Historically, yes, that’s true,” Mac said.

“Why would the Adders do it this way? Of all the ways to harness powerful magic, why through blending it with Muggle tech? And _why_ through stealing the magical cores of healthy witches and wizards, some of whom are pureblood, no less?”

“You worry it’s not the Adders who are responsible,” Mac said flatly, and as though this didn’t surprise him.

“I agree that the Adders are a threat to us,” Vesper said, “and that they are likely to attack again. But I’m not sure that this is the way they’re going to do it. And if that’s the case, then it’s someone else stealing these cores and building these devices, and if _that’s_ the case, then we have two enemies now.”

“And the second is an enemy whose motives we have no insights into,” Mac said. “Which is a problem.”

“So you think I’m right?”

“I think your argument has a great deal of merit. And you’re not alone in your thinking. Moreau has been skeptical from the beginning, and her reasons are only getting stronger.”

“And now we have more evidence that she’s right. She’ll want to hear this.”

“Yes, she will.”

“Will Robards be willing to hear it?”

Mac sighed again. “I doubt it. He is very attached to his theory.”

“ _Why_ is he so stubborn?”

“He is a product of a different time,” Mac said, as though this actually answered the question. “And while that is frustrating, I also can see why he would believe his theory is correct. There _is_ evidence to support it.”

Vesper chewed on that, unsure how to feel. It seemed she had not entirely convinced Mac of her own theory.

“The weapon or weapons in question may end up being a mix of magical and Muggle technology, but I don’t think that means we can rule out the Adders altogether,” Mac went on. “They could be trying to make a point about the dangers of blending the magic and Muggle worlds. Some of their newest members might not be pureblood, just anti-Muggle. Even wizards who used to be more connected to the Muggle world can change ideologies. And let’s not forget what Ms. Nadharia said about how an explosion of raw energy from a core is probably not going to hurt magical people, only Muggles. This technology _targets_ Muggles.”

“Why would they target the Auror Corps, then, if the bomb wouldn’t kill us?”

“It could still distract us, disorient us. It could do untold damage to our offices, our training center, our files. It could wreak havoc and cause widespread panic, and all without spilling magical blood.”

Vesper nodded, realizing he was right. It was frustrating, but it was the truth. “Maybe they’re going to attack multiple targets simultaneously,” she ventured. “Including us. We would be distracted enough that we wouldn’t be able to respond to any other attacks happening at the same time.”

Mac looked at her soberly. “Exactly.”

Vesper rubbed a frustrated hand over her forehead. “There’s so much that’s unknown. I feel like they’re always ten freaking steps ahead of us.”

“Then we have to catch up. And the best way to do that is to keep investigating, to do our jobs properly. We follow the lines of inquiry, no matter where they lead us.”

“And you think that will be enough?”

“It has to be. We don’t have a choice.”

Vesper stared at him. It hadn’t truly occurred to her, until that very moment, exactly how high stakes this job was.

“If we work hard and we work smart, we’ll get a break in the case.” Mac leaned towards her, his voice lowering as he tried to reassure her. “I’ve done this a hundred times, Kemp, with some cases feeling a lot more hopeless than this. We have new information, thanks to you, information that leads towards magical engineers, people who are familiar with using Muggle tech in magical ways.”

“And who also have Healing or Mediwizardry experience, an understanding of magical anatomy,” Vesper added.

“Yes, that too. With any luck, that unlikely combination will narrow our field of suspects quite a bit. We’ll get them in the end, you mark my words.”

Vesper swallowed, nodding. She wanted to believe him. She _had_ to, or the fear of what could happen would be too paralyzing, would keep her from moving forward. And she couldn’t let that happen. She had to be like Mac, and the other Senior Aurors. She had to emulate their detachment, their courage, their self-possession, until it was something she felt within herself, for real.

She met her partner’s eyes, keeping her voice level as she spoke. “Good, then. Ok. So what do we do next?”


	30. The Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another happy Sunday to everyone! Time for a little Christmas in July... plus some major shifts for Hermione. Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Still slow catching up on comments, as you may have noticed. Know that my love and gratitude to all of you is unwavering!
> 
> Be well <33

(Hermione)

Hermione heard a shriek behind her and turned sharply to look. But it was only Vesper, having been attacked by a band of children that included Teddy, Victoire, and Esme as she ran barefoot about the room, calling “You’ll never catch me!” and laughing without restraint.

It looked like a fun game, and Hermione smiled to herself behind her glass of chardonnay. Only Vesper could find a way to look as silly as possible while wearing an evening gown.

She watched the band of merry chasers follow their quarry around the Malfoy ballroom for a few more minutes, then looked around to see if she could figure out where her future husband had wandered off to. She didn’t know what it was that always made her lose track of him at parties.

She didn’t spot him right away, but there was a formidable crowd before her, and her visibility was somewhat blocked. The Malfoy/Black Christmas Eve party was well-attended this year, and Hermione had to wonder if the upcoming nuptials of the Malfoy heir had something to do with it. Narcissa had managed to regain many of her social connections after the end of the war, and forge many new ones thanks to her ongoing philanthropy and her reformed ways. But Hermione suspected that a much larger percentage of people who had received an invitation this year had decided to attend, in the hopes of seeing a hint of what the ballroom might look like in a few short weeks, when decorated for the wedding.

It had been all over the papers, and it was difficult to miss. Hermione’s resentment had faded considerably as they drew closer to the date. She could see how happy the engagement had made her friends, and how ready they were to be married. They were simply keen to rush through the preparations – something that made them very different from Ron and Hermione – and that was all right. 

She circled the room, trying to find a familiar face. There were plenty that recognized her, giving her smiles and nods of their heads, and she returned the gestures politely, all the while keeping one eye out for her fiancé.

She was distracted enough that she nearly ran headlong into someone, and had to pause and move her wine glass well out of the way to avoid spilling it.

“Oh, Merlin, I’m so sorry,” she began, and suddenly found herself looking into the face of Andromeda Tonks.

“Quite all right, dear,” the older witch replied smilingly.

“I was in my head,” she said anyway, by way of explanation. “Wasn’t watching where I was going.”

“Looking for someone?” Andromeda asked.

“Ron, actually. Have you seen him?”

“A while ago, but not recently. I’ve been a bit bombarded. Everyone wanting to catch up now I’m attending public events again.”

“Right,” said Hermione. Andromeda likely would not have chosen to attend a party of this size while still not feeling her best. “I imagine it’s a bit overwhelming, getting back into the swing of it.”

“Oh, it certainly is,” Andromeda agreed. “And it’s always the same questions, you know. How am I feeling? How is treatment going? How is Teddy handling all of it?” She sighed, staring into her wine glass, and didn’t see Hermione bite her lip in guilt, realizing _she_ had been among the people asking those very questions. “I know they mean well, but it’s different than when someone I’m close to asks. With them I can be honest. But around here…” She gestured around the room. “They’re asking to be polite; they don’t want the grisly details. I have to give them the glossed over version, and it means having the same conversation over and over again. It’s very tiring.”

Hermione nodded, feeling a little bit better. It seemed the other witch felt close enough to her to at least relay this genuine frustration.

“I find distraction is always the best method,” she replied. “It’s probably not as annoying as your situation, but I do end up having the same conversation over and over about my work, mostly with people who don’t actually care.” She felt a sudden surge of resentment at how often that was true. Very few people wanted to be invested in creature rights, and she had yet to find an effective way to persuade them to be. “Usually I find some way to get them gossiping or talking about themselves, and it eases the pressure somewhat. Or at least the monotony.”

“Ah, yes, it’s a good strategy. But then, of course, you’re stuck listening to someone drone on about their holiday in Majorca in great detail,” she said with a grin. “Though perhaps it would be worth it. Even the praise is wearing me out. If someone calls me ‘brave’ one more time…”

Hermione laughed. Andromeda was, in fact, very brave, but she could also understand why hearing it over and over would make it wear thin. In the same way Hermione tired of people commenting on her intelligence and how well she did in school. When it was all anyone seemed to know about her, when it was the only nice thing they could think of to say, the potency of the compliment was diluted considerably. 

“It’s likely that they don’t know the right thing to say,” Hermione offered neutrally. “That’s just the sort of thing one is expected to say in that situation, I suppose.”

“Mm, very true,” Andromeda replied, nodding. “And in this crowd, there are plenty who are most concerned with appearing to do and say the right things.”

Hermione didn’t reply, unsure of how to. About many of the guests, Hermione was sure the other witch was right. But she could also recognize a slight tone of bitterness tainting Andromeda’s words, implying her observation was perhaps a bit skewed. Not that Hermione could blame her.

“Ah, well, it’s no matter,” Andromeda said after a short pause. “I came to the party, which has made Narcissa happy and which was the point of it in the first place. A bit of vapid socializing isn’t what's going to kill me.”

Hermione mustered a smile at that flimsy irony, not wanting to give away that what Andromeda had just said made her quite sad. 

“Teddy was very excited you came tonight as well,” she said. “Every time I see him he tells me about some new adventure you two have been up to together.”

Hermione saw genuine happiness grace Andromeda’s dark eyes. She was glad to talk of her grandson, and the topic carried them through the ballroom as they went in a meandering search together: Hermione for Ron and Andromeda for Harry and Draco. Andromeda was feeling ready to call it a night and wanted to say a quick goodbye to the couple before she left.

“How much would you wager that they’ve snuck off together, away from prying eyes?” Andromeda said, sounding amused. “The two haven’t been able to keep their hands off each other lately. They think I haven’t noticed, but I certainly have.”

“Well, getting engaged is quite the aphrodisiac,” Hermione said, her voice low and conspiratorial.

“I remember,” Andromeda said, with some nostalgia, and the women shared a quiet, knowing laugh together.

They found Ron first, enjoying some firewhiskey with Dean and Theo in a far corner of the room. From the sound of it, Dean was regaling them with some hilarious story about his boss at the Department of Games and Sports, of which he always had plenty. When Ron looked up from his glass long enough to notice the two women coming towards him, his amused chuckle melted easily into a welcoming smile.

“Well hello there, love,” he said, leaning down to give Hermione a peck. “How’s the rest of the party then?”

“Getting a bit monotonous, honestly,” Hermione said. “Lucky that I ran into Andromeda, or I would have been in danger of becoming very bored.”

Ron laughed at her honesty. “You should have tracked me down sooner. Unless you think I’m just as boring as the rest?”

Hermione rolled eyes, her smile never wavering. “Don’t be ridiculous, love. I _was_ looking for you, but as usual you’d snuck off with the liquor and the most entertaining people at the party, nowhere to be found.” She pouted, for good measure, knowing Ron wouldn’t be able to resist placing another kiss on her lips when they were in that state.

“All right, you two, that’s enough lovey dovey for one evening,” Dean said. “More than I have the stomach for, at any rate.”

Now it was Ron who rolled his eyes, turning back to his former classmate. “What about you and Parvati, then? I saw the way you were looking at her earlier.”

Dean cleared his throat and took a sip of whiskey. “It’s complicated,” he supplied, making Theo snort.

“Whatever, mate,” the Slytherin said. He checked his watch. “Speaking of lovey dovey, I best find my wife. And I’m sure my child is passed out in a corner somewhere around here. She rarely stays awake past nine o’clock.”

“I saw her running after Vesper earlier,” Hermione said. “She might be well worn out by now.”

And with that, the firewhiskey trio disbanded, Theo off to find his family and Dean off to pursue something unnamed he had spotted on the other side of the room. Hermione suspected, however, based on the flash of bright blue sari and long dark plait she caught a glimpse of, that Dean was about to make things even more complicated with Parvati.

This left Ron, who happily came in step with Hermione and Andromeda as they went in search of Harry and Draco once more.

“Perhaps the atrium,” Hermione suggested. “If they really were looking for some privacy.”

“If that’s the case, do we really want to stumble upon them? Or is it just going to be embarrassing for all of us?” Ron asked, and Hermione had to admit that he had a point. 

Thankfully they were spared that harrowing decision when the couple in question appeared only a minute later, looking a bit flushed but at least still in an appropriate state of dress.

“There you two are,” said Andromeda knowingly. “I wasn’t sure I’d be able to find you.”

“We were just out in the garden, taking a peek at the gazebo now that it’s finished,” Draco answered, rather defensively. Hermione couldn’t help but notice that he was trying to tug the collar of his dress robes a bit higher around his neck. She smirked to herself.

“Just getting excited for the big day, is all,” Harry added, with the straightest face he was capable of mustering.

“Mm, that’s one way to phrase it,” Andromeda said, which made both men go even more red. Draco cleared his throat.

“Where’s Teddy? He said he was going to stay with you.”

“Oh, he did for a bit. But adult conversations are quite boring, you know, so he ran off to play with the other children. They’ve been running around the ballroom for the last half hour. I’m surprised you didn’t see them.”

“They were too busy admiring the gazebo, I think,” Hermione said mildly, smiling into her wine as she took a small sip. Ron snorted next to her.

“Well, it _is_ quite a nice gazebo,” Draco riposted, his expression impassive save for the small, wicked glint in his eye. “Nothing wrong with us wanting to take our time… admiring it.”

“All right,” Harry interjected, perhaps a bit loudly. “Enough of that. Let’s find Teddy, then, shall we?” He turned to Andromeda. “Are you remaining for a bit or are you off to bed?”

“Off to bed,” Andromeda said, graciously allowing for Harry’s blatant redirecting of the conversation. “Not a bad idea for the three of you, either. Teddy is a _very_ early riser Christmas morning, I have to warn you. Best to get your rest while you can.”

The couple seemed eager to follow that advice, and hugs and kisses were exchanged all around before everyone said their goodbyes. Andromeda made for one of the upstairs guest rooms of the manor while Harry and Draco walked away hand in hand, in search of Teddy.

“I’m ready to call it a night as well if you are,” Ron said, once they were alone. “Unless of course, you _also_ want to pop out to the garden and ‘admire the gazebo’ for a bit.”

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave her fiancé a playful slap to the stomach with the back of her hand, which only made his grin widen. “There’s plenty of ‘admiring’ we can do in our own bed, if we’re so inclined,” she said. 

Ron leaned down to kiss her, still smiling. “That we can, love. That we can.”

***

Christmas morning was quiet when Hermione awoke, and she took a moment to savor it. After the music and chatter of the party the night before, and what she knew she and Ron would face when they made their way to the Burrow later in the morning, Hermione was happy to enjoy a few moments of silence.

“Merry Christmas, love,” Ron said softly beside her, and she turned her head.

“Merry Christmas,” she replied, smiling at him. Her hand found his, under the covers, and she gave it a squeeze. She wasn’t sure if it was the spirit of the season or a contrast to the general, subdued melancholy she’d been feeling lately, but she found her heart swelling with gratitude for him, for his mere presence. “Waking up to you is the best thing,” she said. “The best present.”

He moved closer, a grin splitting his face. One of his large hands slid across her bare stomach. “That’s quite a line, Ms. Granger,” he teased. “Trying to get into my knickers, are you?”

She giggled. “Always, Mr. Weasley. Always.”

His hand slid lower, and with purpose, and when he found her soft and wet against his fingers, he hummed happily. Their mouths met hungrily as he continued to tease her, working her into a state until she was bucking against his hand for more.

It took begging on her part, whimpering her need into his ear, kissing every inch of his skin that she could reach, for him to finally enter her. And when he did he went slow, driving in deeply yet gently, shuddering in pleasure as she held onto him and met him with each thrust.

“Faster, Ron,” she begged again, enjoying his moan of approval and the pounding that followed it. Only a few touches from her hand had her finishing around him, squeezing him tight until his thrusts became erratic and he stilled inside her, his open mouth leaving a biting kiss on her shoulder.

“Perfect way to start the day,” Ron noted with a smile as he slipped out of her. He gave her face a few soft kisses, one on her cheek, one on her nose, before finally finding her lips again. He rolled off her, taking his usual place beside her once more.

“Absolutely,” Hermione agreed, stretching languidly against the sheets. She closed her eyes, feeling she could almost go back to sleep. Too bad they had a rather long and busy day ahead of them.

The _fwump_ of something small but heavy landing next to her on the bed had her opening her eyes again. She craned her neck to see a Christmas package, wrapped in white paper with a cheerful red bow, resting by her hip. Ron was standing beside the bed, looking at her expectantly. She sat up.

“Time for presents already?”

“Seeing as we have to be at my parents’ in an hour and we still have to shower,” Ron answered, clambering back into bed next to her, “yeah, I think it’s about that time. It’s tradition, after all.”

It was. Hermione and Ron had started it the same year they had moved in together, their first Christmas out of Hogwarts. They decided they wanted a chance to properly appreciate the gifts they gave to each other, and the Burrow was hardly the place for that to happen. There were too many people, too many things going on, too many presents to unwrap, for them to really take their time together. So it had become their little ritual to exchange gifts on Christmas morning, before the Burrow, before the chaos.

Hermione summoned her gift to Ron with a wave of her wand, catching it deftly as it flew towards the bed. She held it out to her fiancé.

“Why don’t you go first, love?” she said. She was excited for him to open it, though it was only an envelope.

With a curious tilt of his brow, Ron did so, peeling back the paper to reveal the single Quidditch ticket she had tucked inside.

“The Cannons,” he said, grinning as he immediately recognizing the logo stamped on the ticket. But then he read it over, and his face registered disbelief. “Is this what I think it is?”

“A top box,” she said proudly. It had taken some finagling to get her hands on it, even for a Cannons match. Luckily she had learned, back in August, that a coworker of hers knew a guy who knew a guy, and she had managed to procure a ticket. “All to yourself. It seats a dozen, so you can bring whoever you like. Harry, Theo, Dean, all of them, and more.”

“This is great, love,” Ron said, smiling like he meant it. “Really great.”

Hermione’s smile matched his. “Glad you like it.”

“How about yours, then?” Ron said, indicating the wrapped gift lying next to her.

“All right…” She picked it up, weighing it in her hand. “It’s a book, isn’t it?” she said, though she could hardly complain. She loved books.

“Maybe,” Ron said, house mouth tilting slyly in a way that told Hermione there was more to it than that. “It’s not diamonds and sapphires, I’ll tell you that. Something much more useful this time.”

Chuckling, Hermione undid the bow and tore off the paper. It _was_ a book, in fact, though the black leather cover held no words, only an embossed silver infinity symbol directly in the center. Hermione’s brow furrowed as she stared at it in recognition. It looked exactly like the symbol on the front of Ron’s InfiniVault. She opened it, only to find that all of the pages were blank.

“It’s an InfiniBook,” Ron said. “Dennis Creevey’s latest invention. It’s a notebook, you see, that keeps track of all the notes you take and sorts them however you like. It will even keep an index for you, and let you search for entries based on dates or key words, just like the InfiniVault does.” He went on to explain many of the other features, including how individual pages could change their layout, from blank, to lined, to a grid or a list, and many others. “It neatens handwriting and has a spell correction feature as well.”

“It’s amazing,” Hermione agreed, pleased not only by the thoughtfulness of the gift but also by Ron’s excitement in giving it to her. “It’s perfect for me.”

“I thought so.”

“And I didn’t even know these existed!”

“Hot off the presses, this one,” Ron said, pride thickening his voice. “There’s a waiting list, but I reached out to Dennis and he set me up on the sly. He agreed with me that if this notebook was designed for anyone, it’s you.”

Hermione ran a hand over the front cover, enjoying even the tactile quality of the smooth leather binding and the thick weight of it in her palm. When she looked up, she met Ron’s eyes, which were crinkled in happiness. She leaned forward, giving him a kiss.

“This is a very good start to Christmas indeed,” she told him.

A few more sweet kisses and a squeeze of her thigh later, Ron was pulling away. “Time for a shower? It will be faster if we share.”

Liking that idea very much, Hermione put the InfiniBook away carefully in her nightstand drawer before following her naked fiancé into their en suite.

After a thorough (and rather handsy) cleaning, they were ready to face the day, ready to go get their traditional Christmas jumpers and see what hauls each of the children brought in that morning.

There were far too many Weasleys now, between the parents, the siblings, the spouses, and the grandchildren, for everyone to exchange gifts. They’d all let go of any expectations for that early on, deciding anyone within the family who wanted to exchange gifts could, at their own discretion and budget. Ron and Hermione always bought something for Harry and Draco, of course, and for Ginny. Ron usually got a little something for each of his brothers and a larger something for his parents. Molly baked and made jumpers for everyone, though Hermione had no idea how she managed to accomplish all of that each year. She suspected the Weasley matriarch had found a way to get the knitting needles to do most of the work on their own.

And then there were the children. _Everyone_ bought things for the children, which meant they came away from each Christmas feeling quite spoiled. Nobody minded, though. There was nothing quite so wonderful or in keeping with the Christmas spirit as the joy a child showed in opening presents.

Ron and Hermione gathered and shrunk all of their gifts before Apparating together to the Burrow.

Just about everyone else had already arrived (there was a chance they’d taken a little bit of extra time in the shower, actually), and when they entered the kitchen they were greeted loudly and warmly by all present. Hermione barely managed to get out a “Happy Christmas” before she was enfolded in embrace after embrace, conveyed steadily through the crowd by each new person who wanted a turn. By the time she finally reached Molly at the stove, her face hurt from smiling.

“Happy Christmas,” she told the woman, giving her a kiss on the cheek before she was engulfed in all that maternal warmth. Molly Weasley always gave the best hugs.

“A very happy Christmas to you, my dear,” the woman replied.

“Sorry we’re a bit late,” Hermione said sheepishly. “Is there anything we can do to help?”

There was always something to be done to be ready for Christmas morning at the Burrow, but many hands made light work. While Molly, Fleur, and Harry – easily the best cooks in the family – finished cooking the Christmas brunch, Ron joined a group that was readying the large family table in the back garden and Hermione partnered with Audrey to keep the children entertained.

It wasn’t much of a job, really. Teddy and Victoire always did well entertaining each other, and Dominique simply wanted a snuggle. She was happy to curl up in Hermione’s lap for a bit while Hermione and Audrey conversed on the sofa and mooned over little baby Molly, who was ensconced in the bjorn that was wrapped around Audrey’s chest and back. Having been born only two weeks previously, the baby mostly slept against her mother’s heartbeat and gave an occasional, lazy yawn. Though even that was enough to keep the two women cooing and enraptured.

“She’s beautiful, Audrey,” Hermione said, taking the baby’s hand gently. “So small and sweet.”

“Yes, she’s just about perfect,” Audrey said proudly, kissing the top of her fuzzy little head.

They were quiet for a minute, both looking at the baby while Hermione ran a soothing hand over Dominique’s back in circles. The toddler squirmed and nuzzled, getting more comfortable, making Hermione smile.

“Have you given it a lot of thought?” Audrey asked.

Hermione had to give herself a couple of seconds to understand what she meant. “Babies?”

“Sure.”

Hermione shrugged. “Yes, some thought. Ron and I talk about it. But it’s a little ways away for us. There’s plenty to do before then.”

“Ah, well, there’s no rush. Though you might find it comes upon you faster than you expect.”

“Parenthood?”

Audrey nodded.

“In a good way, or a… not so good way?”

Audrey looked down at her daughter and stroked her small head. “In a very good way, I’d have to say. Even the more difficult things, like the middle of the night feedings, are rather nice sometimes.”

“Mm, I can understand how they could be, actually.”

“Not that I’m rushing you, of course,” Audrey said, glancing up at her with an amused smile. “It’s just that time seems to have flown by, between my first meeting Percy and now. It doesn’t seem all that long ago.”

“Yes, I know what you mean. And don’t worry. I don’t feel rushed. Having Teddy around, and Bill and Fleur having the girls, and now you and Percy… there’s not as much pressure on us younger ones to have kids just yet. Thankfully.”

“Yes, very true. Not to mention that Fleur…” Audrey trailed off, looking around at Teddy and Victoire on the other side of the room. Seeing that the children were thoroughly occupied, she turned back to Hermione, her voice now adopting a conspiratorial softness. “Fleur just found out she’s pregnant again.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

Audrey shook her head. “It’s very early stages. They haven’t told many people yet, though they don’t mind if the family knows.”

“Incredible,” Hermione replied, absorbing the news. “Well that will keep Molly -“ She paused, glancing down at the baby, “-adult Molly, I mean – distracted for a little while, won’t it?” She wondered idly how often _that_ sort of confusion was going to happen from now on, with two Mollys in the family.

“Certainly,” Audrey said, amused again. “Not to mention all the weddings, with Harry and Draco’s next month, yours in the spring, and George and Angelina next year… She has plenty to be excited about.”

“Too true.”

They didn’t get a chance to talk for much longer as an eager announcement was making its way through the house, indicating that the food was ready and that everyone should gather outside in the garden.

Hermione carried Dominique to the table – which was massive and decorated cheerfully with holly, tinsel, and colorful wizard crackers stacked between the platters of food – before handing her off to Fleur and finding her usual seat between Ron and Harry. She gave her best friend a kiss on the cheek as she sat down, since she hadn’t seen him much yet that morning, and he grinned at her.

And so the chaos of the Weasley Christmas began in earnest. Food – every kind of breakfast dish one could imagine, both English and French – was levitated around the table and plates were soon full to the brim with rashers, eggs, mushrooms, bangers, pastries, and more. Chatter was loud and overlapping from both ends of the table, and there was a consistent pattern of small explosions every few minutes as someone decided it was time to try their luck with a cracker. 

Hermione was hesitant to try one, knowing they had been provided by George and developed at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. But once she looked round the table and saw that the prizes were actually rather good, she agreed to pull a harmless looking blue and silver one with Ron. A burst of red and green smoke later, she was rewarded with a lovely silk scarf for her trouble, while Ron was suddenly sporting a Santa hat with a small Christmas elf sitting on the brim, who got up and did a little jig if you poked him in the stomach.

The children were sufficiently distracted by their prizes for a little while, enough time to let the adults fully enjoy their meal, at least. But it wasn’t long before they remembered there were gifts waiting for them under the tree and they were begging their parents to hurry it along.

Gifts were opened around the tree of course, and it was a crowded endeavor as always. Molly and Arthur took their prime spots on the sofa as usual, while the children sat on the floor by the tree and everyone else grabbed a chair – if they could find one – or otherwise stood around the edge of the room, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of the gifts being opened. There was no rhyme or reason to it, no patient waiting for one person to finish before another gift was opened. It was essentially a free-for-all, packages passed all about the room until they found the right person, and people unwrapping at their own discretion. There was an ongoing, excited chatter that filled the room, only pausing occasionally as one person or another would hold out a new gift to be admired by the crowd.

The children, of course, were the best part, and Hermione managed to get a good view of the tree and was able to catch Victoire opening the new books she and Ron had given her and Dominique find her little rabbit stuffy that Ron had picked out. She also got the full show of Teddy unwrapping a new training broom from Harry and Draco, his complete surprise at receiving it, and his squeal of delight when he learned that his dads had brought their brooms along too, in case he wanted to practice right away with them in the back garden.

Hermione herself received a decent haul, a lovely deep red sweater and a box of mince pies from Molly, new earrings from Harry and Draco, her favorite wine and chocolate from Ginny, and many new books, as usual. 

It wasn’t long before the sitting room floor was a mess of paper and people had abandoned their seats to make their way around the room for hugs and thanks to one another. Someone eventually vanished the mess and the crowd dispersed to various parts of the house, some to try out their new gifts right away and some to go pick at the leftovers in the kitchen or fetch another drink.

Hermione found herself in the back garden, enjoying the pervasive warming charms that had been cast over the whole area as she lounged in a reclining chair next to Ginny, sipping on a butterbeer and catching up with her. Harry, Draco, and Teddy had come out as well, brooms in hand and ready for some practice. Hermione and Ginny let their conversation ebb and flow as they simultaneously watched the boys in action, as Draco showed Teddy the proper grip for the broom and Harry helped him get comfortable hovering a few feet above the ground.

It didn’t take long for Teddy to feel ready for some proper flying, and he and Harry zipped about the garden, still not going too high, while Draco watched from the ground and gave the occasional comment.

“All right, now we can try a dive,” she heard Harry say, once they’d spent a good deal of time on the basics. “Just a small one.” He demonstrated, angling his broom down just slightly and diving forward a few feet. He remained hovering just an arm’s length above the ground, looking back up at Teddy. “What do you think? Do you want to try it?”

“I think so,” said Teddy, though he sounded reluctant. Hermione suspected he wanted to be able to do anything Harry could do, but was nervous.

“It’s all right, love,” Draco chimed in. “The broom won’t let you fall off. And Harry and I are right here.” He held out his arms, as if ready to catch him.

That seemed to be all the encouragement Teddy needed, because he got a sort of pinched, determined look on his face before he angled his broom down just as Harry had done, and pushed forward.

He dropped, letting out a sharp squeal before leveling out again and coming to a stop.

“That was great, Teddy!” Harry said.

“I did it! I did it!” Teddy cried. “Draco, did you see?”

Draco leaned over and kissed Teddy on the head, praising his bravery as Harry looked on, grinning.

“Look at him,” Ginny said, and Hermione turned her head towards her. “Look at how happy he is.”

Though the pronoun made her statement a little ambiguous, Hermione thought she could guess which “he” Ginny was referring to. She glanced at Harry again, who had taken to the air with Teddy once more and seemed to be explaining a new trick to him. Then she turned back to Ginny to find her smiling softly.

“He has everything he ever wanted,” said the redhead.

Hermione’s eyes traced Ginny’s expression, wondering if she would find any sadness there. She didn’t. “And how do you feel about that?” she asked finally.

“Glad,” Ginny answered readily. “If anyone deserves to get exactly what they always wanted, it’s Harry, don’t you think?”

Hermione did think so, and she nodded. 

“I wouldn’t be as happy,” Ginny added, before Hermione could say anything.

Hermione blinked as she took that in, as she sorted through what she thought Ginny meant by that. “No?”

Ginny shook her head, a thoughtful frown on her pale, pretty face. “To be so settled already? No. I don’t think so. I think I would feel claustrophobic. I don’t really understand how all of you can be so sure whom you want to marry and have kids with now. Not that I’m not glad you and my brother are finally tying the knot,” she added, reaching out and giving Hermione’s hand a squeeze. “Or that Harry and Draco are doing the same and are ready to be parents. I just can’t imagine it for myself.”

“You talked about it more when we were younger than you do now,” Hermione observed.

“Yeah, well, I talked about it in school because Harry liked to talk about it. Because he wanted a family _so_ badly. And, you know, at the time it all sounded really nice. After the war, when we were just relieved that we had lived through it, when simply the thought of having a safe, quiet life with someone you loved was enough… what can I say? It felt good to share that dream with Harry, just for a little while. But knowing what I know now, about how confused I was… You know, sometimes I think I fixated on all that stuff about Harry becoming an Auror because it would mean that we would put off having kids for a while. That we could be career people, busy people. There would be opportunities for us to be apart and not have it be about home life and all that. I didn’t know it at the time, but the idea of Harry and I just settling down to a nice, quiet life, without any more adventure, without… getting to go out there and make our mark… I don’t know. It frightened me, I suppose.”

“You two wanted different things, in the end,” Hermione said.

“Very much so. I couldn’t see it then, but Harry could. Thank Merlin.”

“It’s for the best,” Hermione said, sensing that it would be within bounds to say so. “Imagine how hard it would be to help raise Teddy with how much you travel. I know it’s been hard on Harry with Draco’s hospital schedule as it is. Could you imagine if he had a partner who was gone for weeks at a time?”

“It would never have worked,” Ginny agreed. “Especially since I’m pretty sure Harry and Draco want to have another baby soon.”

“You think? Even with Teddy, and Draco’s residency, and everything?”

“Well, maybe they’ll wait a couple of years. But still. I think as soon as it feels feasible, they will. I mean, look at them.” She pointed, and Hermione’s gaze followed, spotting Draco pulling Teddy off of his broom and into his arms. Teddy clung tightly to him, nuzzling in as Draco whispered something to him. “They live for this. It’s obvious.”

“Mm,” Hermione agreed vaguely. Ginny had a point, though she also felt that a person didn’t have to “live for” being a parent to want to be one, or to be good at it. Still, Harry and Draco did seem particularly family-oriented. Ginny wasn’t, and Hermione and Ron found themselves somewhere in the middle. And that was all ok, really. “To each their own,” she said.

Ginny sighed. “Yeah, I think so too.” She leaned back in the chair, lounging with her feet crossed on the small cushioned ottoman. “Don’t get me wrong. There’s nothing wrong with wanting kids. I’m sure I’ll have some eventually.”

“With Ti?” Ginny’s boyfriend Tiresias was Keeper for the Harpies, and they had been together exclusively for a couple of years by that point. Still, there was very little talk from either of them about marriage or a future together.

“I don’t know. Maybe,” Ginny said with a shrug. “In a way, that’s what’s so great about being with him. The not knowing. He wants the same things I want right now and isn’t worried about a future. There’s no… pressure, you know? He knows that pregnancy will be the end of my career, and he doesn’t want that for me unless I want it for myself.”

“A pregnancy wouldn’t be the end,” Hermione argued, aghast. “That would be totally unfair.”

Ginny shrugged again. “It might be unfair, but it’s just reality. No manager in their right mind is going to let a player fly while she’s knocked up. Too much possibility of injury. Not to mention, our bellies get big enough and it throws off our center of gravity. Even ignoring all the risks, I wouldn’t be able to fly as well. And that matters.”

“I bet you could manage it.” Ginny was a fantastic flyer. Hermione knew almost nothing about the sport, and she still knew that.

“Maybe, but there’s no way my manager would let me try. And then there’s the fact that after the pregnancy, there will be a helpless, vulnerable little _baby_ to take care of.”

Hermione smirked. “If I were you, I’d make Ti take paternity leave so you can get back on the pitch as soon as possible. It’s only fair, since you would have to take nine months off during the pregnancy.”

Ginny laughed. “Yeah, I can see that going over quite well.” She gave her companion a good-natured eye roll and a shake of her head. “Nah, it’s not worth it. That’s the whole point, really. I have everything I could possibly want. Why would I change things now? There’s absolutely no good reason I can’t give myself ten more years of this, ten more years of kicking serious arse on the pitch. By then I’ll be older, ready to move on and settle down. I’ll know what kind of partner I want and what kind of family I want to build. I’ll know what I want to do next, after Quidditch. And I won’t resent needing to retire, because I’ll know that I got the most I could possibly get out of my career, that I didn’t rush. What more could I ask for?”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” Hermione said, and if there was some wistfulness in her voice, it couldn’t be helped. She was finding herself suddenly, strangely _jealous_ of Ginny, which didn’t make any sense. Ginny’s way of life was one Hermione had no interest in for herself, and she had always simply been happy that her friend was happy. But to hear her talk about it that way, that she could see a clear future that she could look forward to, but that she was also so happy in the moment, that she had everything she could possibly want _now_ , already… It made something inside Hermione tighten and twist. Because she was realizing that she wasn’t sure she could say the same. She wasn’t sure she’d ever even asked herself the question.

_Am I happy with the way my life is now?_

The simplest answer was: _partially_. Because there were many good things, things she wouldn’t change at all: Ron, her friends, the causes she was fighting for and still believed strongly in.

And on the other hand, there was her parents’ case and her seeming inability to help them. And that was casting a larger and larger cloud over everything else, the longer she sat with it, the longer she carried it alone.

And that, despite her very best efforts to stop it, was making her very unhappy.

As dusk descended and everyone gathered together again for pre-supper tea and conversation, Hermione ruminated on why she hadn’t been able to acknowledge this truth before, and why it sat so plainly before her now.

The only thing she could think of was that she hadn’t been present to it, hadn’t been _willing_ to be. She’d distracted herself effectively for a long time with the future, with what came next, and next, and next. That and with fixing the mistakes she had made with her parents. But it wasn’t enough. It simply wasn’t. All the fight she’d once had was slowly leaving her, and she was left with an exhausted emptiness that felt more like resignation than anything.

She was quiet during tea and the light supper that came after, barely participating in conversation and speaking little even when she was addressed directly. That frequent visitor, melancholy, had returned after her conversation with Ginny, after the things it had made her consider. But more than that, she found herself with a sober, unwavering realization that there was only one way to change things. Something she had been putting off for far too long.

When she considered the greatest burden she was carrying, it was all of her deceptions. It was the lying, and how it only led to more lying. It was the constant weight of fear on her chest at the possibility of being found out, at having to come clean.

Some burdens were not worth carrying. Some secrets were dangerous because they were kept.

She could feel Ron looking at her throughout the evening, as they continued to eat, drink, and socialize. She caught the deepening furrow of his brow, the frown of concern forming along his lips, and she knew he could see that something was wrong. But he didn’t ask then, and Hermione was glad.

He would know soon enough.

***

“I’m worried about you.”

It was the first thing Ron said when Hermione walked into their bedroom, fresh from her shower and bedtime preparations. It having been such a long day at the Burrow, they were turning in early, which suited Hermione just fine.

She stopped at the sound of his voice, hovering at the end of the bed. Ron had put his book on his nightstand already and was staring at her with open concern.

Hermione swallowed. “I’m a bit worried about me too,” she said.

Ron brought a hand to his mouth, tapping his thumb on his lips as if considering this. Then his hand dropped to the bedspread, to the spot right beside him, and he patted it gently. “Sit with me,” he said. “Talk to me.”

Hermione sighed and nodded, climbing onto the bed. She felt heavy, a strange mix of certainty and dread weighing in her gut, and she knew the only way to feel lighter again was to finally tell the truth.

She didn’t sit next to him in the spot he had indicated, instead remaining across from him so she could watch his face. His eyes followed her as she drew closer and situated herself cross-legged only inches from him.

There was silence from both of them. Ron’s was expectant, and Hermione’s hesitant, though not because she didn’t know what she wanted to say. She just needed to take a moment, staring at the clasped hands in her lap, to gather the fortitude to say it.

“I lied,” she began. “I lied to you.”

She heard Ron let out a slow breath. “About what?”

She glanced up at him then, hoping she could read what he was thinking, what he was feeling about what she had already admitted. His mouth was a bit tight, but there was no anger in his eyes. “About what my parents were doing for the holidays. They’re not skiing.”

Ron nodded, his eyes dropping. “I wondered,” he said.

“You did?”

He shrugged minutely. “It seemed strange.”

Hermione thought that over and knew he was right. It was a strange lie. All of her lies were strange. So much of it didn’t make sense, and she knew that. She didn’t know how to explain them, but she had to keep going.

“They weren’t at Christmas because they’re… not well. They haven’t been well for a long time.” She glanced up at him again, noting the crinkling of his forehead, the slight narrowing of his eyes. “They’re in the hospital, in the Janus Thickey ward.”

Ron put a hand over both of hers, squeezing gently. He seemed very calm, and Hermione was glad for that. “Is it related to… to their memory challenges, or is it something else?”

“Their memories,” Hermione said. “But it’s an extreme case. It’s…” She could feel a lump forming in her throat, moisture gathering in her eyes, and she knew it was inevitable. “It’s unprecedented, they said. They’re doing everything they can, but they don’t really know how to fix it.” A tear spilled, and she cleared it away quickly. “There was an accident, you see, a burst of magic.” She went on to explain the events as she knew them, and it made her feel just a little calmer, as facts always did. Even the descriptions of her parents’ treatment and the small improvements they _had_ made eased some of the shaking in her hands. It was good to remember that things had progressed some, even if some days it felt like treatment was a dead end.

Ron asked a few questions, seeking clarification on the details, and Hermione tried her best to answer them. But there was still so much she didn’t know or understand, and that, really, was the crux of the issue.

“I’ve been trying to help, you know?” she told him. “I’ve been researching, trying to learn about accidental magic and what kind could have caused this, trying to find some clue that might point in the direction of an effective treatment but… I haven’t learned anything useful.” To her dismay, the tears were back, and she couldn’t stop them from falling freely. “Nothing I’ve done has mattered at all. It was just a waste.”

“No, love,” Ron said, wiping gently at her cheeks. “I’m sure that’s not true.”

“It is true,” she said, lip quivering. “I failed them.”

“No.”

“Yes.” She looked him right in the eyes. “I’ve failed. In every way possible.”

“Hermione…”

“I failed you too.”

He didn’t say anything to that, his brow crinkling again.

“I lied to you. I lied a lot. To cover for the fact that I hadn’t told you from the beginning.”

His gaze dropped and he blinked a couple of times. “Yeah.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t trust you. I hope you know that. It wasn’t that I didn’t think you would support me or help me.”

“Then _why_ , Hermione?”

She knew then, with those three words, just how much she had hurt him. He was trying to hide it, probably because she was already so sad and he didn’t want to make it worse.

Which only _served_ to make it worse, actually. Ron in pain was something she’d always had trouble bearing, and to know that _she_ had caused it… She wasn’t sure what to do, other than try to help him understand.

“At first I just didn’t want to have to say it out loud, I suppose,” she ventured. “I… The day it happened, I had every intention of coming home and telling you. I knew I would have to tell you. And I think… I think it’s likely that if I had seen you right away, if I’d gone to you right away, I would have told it all. But I took my lunch break to meet with the Healers and find out what happened, and then I had to go back to work. I had to pretend all day that everything was fine. And then I got home and saw you… I was just so _happy_ to see you. I was so happy to be home and I didn’t… I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to ruin that happiness.”

She paused, trying to figure out where to go from there. Because the rest was a lot more complicated.

“All right,” Ron said. “So why didn’t you tell me the next day, or the day after that?”

She took a deep breath and let it out. “I just kept putting it off. I was… buying myself time, I suppose. I kept hoping it would be miraculously fixed, and then I could deliver good news instead of bad. Which was stupid, I know. And it was just an excuse for not wanting to face what I had done. But the longer I waited, the less I felt like I could come clean.”

“Face what you had done?” Ron asked gently. “You mean, the lying?”

“Yes, that,” said Hermione. “And the fact that what happened to Mum and Dad is because of me.”

Ron seemed stunned into silence, but only for a moment. “You think this was your fault?”

“I _know_ it was.”

“’Mione…”

“I Obliviated them. I Obliviated them so thoroughly that they thought they were completely different people. Do you know how much the mind has to be altered, what kind of modifications are required, to make that happen?”

“You were protecting them. You were saving their lives.”

“I told myself that’s what I was doing. There _were_ other options. But I chose the one that would spare them the pain of losing me if I died. I knew what I was risking in the war, what was possible. I knew I could die and I wanted to spare them that.”

“Like I said, you were protecting them.”

“But I didn’t think about the consequences,” Hermione said. “I didn’t think about the fact that if I survived, I would have a choice to make. I would have to choose between letting them go and be happy or undoing what I had done. And I chose the more selfish thing, partially out of hubris because I believed that if I had done such a good job of modifying their memories, then of _course_ I was capable of putting them right again. And… and I wanted my parents back. So I…” She trailed off, knowing Ron would remember what came next. He had been there.

“You did as good a job as anyone could have done under those circumstances,” Ron said. “The Healers told you that when you brought your parents back from Australia, remember? They said side effects were common and-“

“I know,” Hermione said, not wanting to cut him off but unable to hear more of this. “But if I had found some way to get them back here instead, for treatment, or if I had gone to Healers in Australia-“

“Hermione,” Ron said, interrupting her this time. “Please. Let’s not go down this road again. We talked about all of this five years ago, and we agreed then that we would move on, that we would accept-“

“How can I move on when they’re in hospital, worse off than they ever were before? How can I move on from that?”

Ron pulled away a bit, leaning back against the headboard with a sigh. “I’m not talking about abandoning them or giving up hope. Obviously we’ll still go visit them all the time, we’ll pay careful attention to the treatment plan, we’ll… keep researching.” Hermione let out a little scoff at that. The research was already exhausted. He ignored her. “We’ll do everything we can, whatever it takes. But… but blaming yourself is not a part of that. It _can’t_ be, Hermione, or it will destroy you.”

Hermione stared at him. They were dramatic words, yet, in that moment, with how wrung out she was, how utterly _spent_ she was, they felt true.

“You have to let go, Hermione,” Ron said. “You have to forgive yourself for the choices you made in the past, and you have to realize that _this_ , what has happened to put your parents in the hospital, is not your fault. It was an accident that happened and that had nothing to do with you. It wasn’t your fault, and you have to stop telling yourself that it was.”

“I know,” she replied. “I know I have to. I just don’t know how.”

Ron put his hands over hers again. “That’s what I’m here for. I’ll help you.”

Hermione flinched at that, without meaning to, and Ron pulled away again.

“Unless you don’t want my help,” he said, his voice going flat. “Unless that’s what this is really about.”

“No,” Hermione said, shaking her head vehemently, reaching for him this time. He was stiff, not pulling away but not returning the touch either. “That’s not it at all.”

“We still haven’t really dealt with the fact that you kept this all from me for months,” he said. “I mean, I know you said it was because you kept putting it off so you could avoid facing the truth, but… honestly, ‘Mione, I still don’t really understand why you couldn’t tell _me_. I mean, I’m your… We’re supposed to be getting _married_ , Hermione. We’re going to have a _life_ together. We already have one…”

“I know,” Hermione said. “I know.”

“I just thought that meant we share these things, at least with each other.”

“It does mean that,” Hermione said. “It means that to me too.”

“But you didn’t tell me the truth.”

“I know.”

“So… what does that mean? I’m… trying to understand.”

“I know you are. I know it doesn’t make sense. It… it barely makes sense to me, but…” She clutched at his hand, hoping he would react, hoping he would give her something to hold onto. “But you deserve for me to at least try to explain, so…”

She bowed her head, not knowing where to begin or how the words were going to sound when they came out. But she had to try.

“I’ve… been thinking a lot about when we were eleven. About when we first met, and how we didn’t even like each other. You thought I was a bossy know-it-all, which I was, and I thought you were rude and…” She trailed off, not knowing how to put it into words.

“A bit dim, perhaps?” Ron asked drily. Their eyes met for a moment, amusement flitting between them as memories resurfaced, merely fond now with the distance of time.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted. “But only because I didn’t really know you. And it didn’t take me long to figure out, once we became friends, that you were really quite brilliant, when you allowed yourself to be. You were sweet, too, so long as no one was watching, and you fought hard for those you cared about, including me. I loved all of that about you. But it frustrated me that you only let yourself be that way _sometimes_. Bravado was always getting in the way; you wanted to be… to be _cool_ , you wanted people to like you. You tried to fit in with your brothers, you tried to be worthy of a friendship with one of the most famous wizards in history, even though, to Harry, you were _always_ worthy as just you.”

“Yes,” Ron said quietly. “All of that is true.”

He likely had no idea where Hermione was going with this, and she couldn’t blame him. She pressed on. “I loved you for years before we ever got together, which you know already. I loved all the good things, I _saw_ all the good things in you, and I accepted the faults, too. I just didn’t know where I fit into all of it until that final leg of the war, when you started making an effort, when you started to pay attention to what I needed. That choice was a turning point for you, I think. By actively pursuing me, you started to think about what kind of person, what kind of man, you wanted to be for me. And you started growing up. And then, with the final battle, with eighth year, by joining the Aurors, you just kept growing. You kept bringing out all the things that were wonderful about you and… and you worked hard on not letting your faults hold you back and… it was amazing to watch. It was so amazing to watch you become the person you always wanted to be. You became a man; you became this, incredible, kind, brilliant man, who I _love_ , who I love so… so _desperately_. More than I ever thought I could love someone.” She looked at him again, and his eyes were wet. She could feel that hers were the same. Because this was the really hard part. “A man I’m not sure I really deserve.”

Ron’s whole face expressed his disbelief, his disagreement, from his furrowed brow to his confused frown, but Hermione plowed on.

“I know you’ll say I’m wrong about this, but hear me out. Because you’ve grown so much, you’ve come so far, and… I’m so proud of you. But at the same time I look back on myself, I look back at who I was, and I have to wonder…” She swallowed. “I have to wonder how much growing _I’ve_ really done. Because I… I don’t feel like I have. From the war to where we are now I don’t… I think about that time and sometimes I think I was _more_ sure of myself then than I am now. Like I’ve moved backwards, almost. I can’t look at myself from six years ago and say, ‘Look how far I’ve come.’ All I can think about is, ‘Look how far I still have to go.’”

“I don’t think that’s true, ‘Mione. We’ve all grown, you included. It just might not be as noticeable as it is with me, or Harry, or Draco, because you were already so much more mature and grown up to begin with. But you _have_.”

“It doesn’t feel like I have,” Hermione said. “All the things I don’t like about myself, all the things I thought I would get better about as I got older… I don’t see any difference. I’m still a workaholic who assumes she knows more than other people, even experts in their fields, I still aggressively assert my opinion whenever possible, I’m obsessive and can’t let things go, even when I know I have to…” She shook her head.

“Some of those things are actually quite endearing, in the right circumstances,” Ron said, smiling softly at her. She could tell he was trying to lighten the mood, but it wasn’t really working. His face went serious again. “How long have you been feeling like this?”

She shrugged, unsure how to answer that. “I don’t know. I think I’ve been a bit… adrift for a while now. I thought moving to the DTF would make it better, and in some ways it has. I thought getting engaged to you would make it better, and in some ways it has. There have been choices I’ve made that I felt gave me some direction, and because of that I found I didn’t need to think about the rest. I didn’t need to examine it too closely or worry about it. I could see the future, and I _liked_ the future. You, me, our house, some kids eventually…” She looked at him from under her eyelashes, to see that he was nodding. “I could see myself working my way up the DTF hierarchy. I could see myself running the department someday, getting to decide what cases we take. It all seemed so good. The future looked bright. I had no reason to worry. But then…” She swallowed. “Then this accident happened, and my parents were hospitalized, and it was so… it was like a shock to my system. It was like a reminder of how capable I am of making mistakes. It was a reminder that when I _do_ make mistakes, they’re _big_ ones. When I fuck up, I really… I mean, I _really_ fuck up, don’t I?”

Ron let out a small huff of a laugh, though Hermione couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or disagreement until he spoke. “That’s hardly something unique to you, ‘Mione,” he said. “If we made a list of our biggest mistakes, I imagine my list would be much longer than yours. Harry, if he were here, would argue something similar.” Hermione shook her head, and Ron pressed on. “I abandoned you and Harry during the Horcrux hunt, and all because of some stupid, imagined jealousy. I stopped being Harry’s friend out of jealousy, fourth year. I let my insecurities get in the way of _us_ for… for _years._ Being mean to you, pushing you away, dating a girl I didn’t even like instead of you, the one I really wanted… And Harry… you know how haunted he was about his mistakes from the war, how much work he’s had to do to overcome that.”

“We were children then,” Hermione said. “And it was a war. It was a different time.”

“Yes, exactly. We were young, and it was a war, and you made the best decisions you could make at the time. For me and Harry, for your parents…”

“And now?” Hermione asked, her voice cracking. “What’s my excuse now, for keeping secrets, for lying? I know better. I _knew_ better, and yet I still…” She trailed off, avoiding meeting Ron’s eyes as tears started to flow again. “I hurt you. I never want to hurt you, but I do. I’ve hurt you before, too, just because of my stupid… because I… I overthink everything and-“

Ron let out a frustrated noise, stopping Hermione short. When she looked at him, she saw he was chewing on his lip, his mouth twisted and his gaze not meeting hers. “I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere if we spend all our time talking about excuses and reasons, if what we start doing is keeping a tally of the ways we’ve hurt each other and who’s ahead and who’s behind and who’s worse or better... Our relationship was never about that, and I definitely don’t want it to be now.”

Hermione blinked rapidly, so surprised that her tears seemed to cease of their own accord. “You’re right,” she said.

“Finding out that you kept this from me _did_ hurt me,” Ron said. “I can’t deny that. But it’s nothing compared to how much it scared me, knowing something was wrong and that you weren’t talking to me about it. So to have you finally tell me… I’m just relieved to hear everything, to have you tell me the truth and why you did the things you did. It helps me. It makes me feel a lot better than I did this morning, or last night, or the past few weeks.”

“Oh.” Hermione nodded, taking that in. “I… never thought about it in those terms.”

“You were… scared too, maybe? About how I would react?”

She nodded again, knowing he was right. He sighed.

“I just want to figure out where we go from here. What this means for us, how we can, I don’t know… move forward, I guess.”

“How to heal,” she said, taking his hand again.

He nodded, returning the gesture with a squeeze. “Yeah. How to heal.”

They sat that way for a minute or two, holding hands, considering what lay before them. 

“I have a lot of work to do,” Hermione said quietly. “I know that now. I have a lot that I need to figure out, about why I’ve started to feel lost, about what it is that’s gotten me to this place. I need to think, I mean really _think_ , about the things in my life that are making me feel this way, and what needs to change. And I need to figure out how to let go of this… thing with my parents. I need to figure out how to accept the situation, accept that I can’t fix it. Which I think is the hardest thing.”

“I know,” Ron said softly, one large hand stroking over Hermione’s cheek. “I know.”

“And I need to know how to make things right with you, what’s going to help you heal from this. I need to know what _you_ need, so that I don’t scare you like this again. The last thing I want is for you to question my love for you or my trust in you. I never want you to have doubts about what you mean to me. You’re the greatest gift in my life, the brightest, most beautiful thing and I… I really don’t think I tell you enough. I think about it all the time, but I never _say_ it.”

Ron’s arms were around her suddenly, scooping her up until she was cradled in his lap.

“You take such good care of me,” she murmured into his neck, hoping he could still hear her. “So much so that I sometimes worry that I let you do too much, that I don’t work on taking care of myself. And that I don’t take good enough care of you in return.”

Ron’s arms tightened around her. “’Mione,” he said. “I wouldn’t have survived this past year without you. With my injury… You fought so hard for me, with the Corps, with Robards. You did everything for me when I didn’t have magic. You fed me; you bathed me. You distracted me when I was frustrated and bored. You were there for me, even when I was in a mood and no fun to be around at all. You did so much, you gave so much of yourself, that _I_ felt guilty about how much I was asking of you. I wish you had asked more of me. I just want to be there for you too. For everything.”

Hermione didn’t have any other choice but to cry against Ron’s collarbone, taking in the words, knowing that he was right and that still she had a hard time accepting them, that still she had so much self-doubt. 

“I need you to have more faith in yourself. I need you to have more faith in us.”

“I do!” Hermione cried, lifting her head to look at him. “I do have faith in us. We’re the thing I have the most faith in.”

He cupped her jaw, tilting his head to brush his lips lightly against hers. “I believe you,” he said. “But… I need… I need to see it. I need…”

Hermione’s gaze didn’t leave him as she waited. This was what she wanted to hear: what he needed from her. Whatever it was he asked, she knew she would do it.

“You said that you need to do some serious thinking, and I get that,” Ron finally continued with a sigh. “But if you’re going to do that, I need for you to do it out loud. I need to know what’s going through your head. Even when it’s hard to say or if you’re not sure about things, I want to know. I want to know what you’re thinking.”

Hermione sat up a little straighter in Ron’s lap, so she could look at him straight on. “Essentially, you want me to communicate more. You want me to be more open.”

Ron nodded. “Essentially, yes.”

She placed a hand on his cheek, her small thumb running just under his eye and the subtle, dark bag there that hinted at the stress she had put him through. “I can do that,” she said. “I _will_ do that.”

He tilted forward so that his forehead rested against hers. “I know you will,” he said softly. “And thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said again, because she felt like she needed to. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He kissed her eyelid. “I know,” he said. “I know.”

They settled into silence, Hermione, for her part, letting all the tension that had been building up over months and months release from her shoulders. It was incredible, really, the weight she had been carrying around for so long without a willingness to truly acknowledge it. Now that it was spoken aloud, now that Ron knew, she felt lighter and more open than she could remember in recent memory. The tightness in her chest had cracked open, like a book, releasing everything inside until she felt an emptiness that she could only describe as blissful.

She relaxed into Ron, her head coming to rest naturally in the crook of his neck. His arms around her were just tight enough to be comforting, and after a little while he began to move back and forth, just a bit, like he was rocking her. They stayed that way for a long time, allowing themselves to drift, to just be close.

Just as Hermione felt almost like she was drifting off, however, she felt Ron shift, heard a few aborted breaths, almost like he was readying himself to say something.

“I have something I’d like to ask, if that’s all right,” he said finally. 

Hermione lifted her head again. “Anything.”

“Does anyone else know? I’m gathering not many, considering the way you described things, but I wanted to be sure. I want to make sure I don’t go spouting things to someone who doesn’t know yet.”

Hermione’s heart filled with gratitude for him, and she kissed his cheek. “The only other people who know are my parents’ Healers,” she said. Maybe she was imagining it, but she thought she felt Ron relax just as fraction, as though relieved to hear that. She had a feeling she knew where that relief was coming from. “I haven’t told anyone myself. I couldn’t bring myself to. And, of course, if I was going to tell anyone, it would be you.”

Ron kissed her forehead. “All right,” he said. “All right.”

“I don’t think I’m ready,” Hermione added, “to tell other people. I know I ought to. I know it will need to happen eventually. But you knowing is enough for me right now. I don’t want to spend a lot of time talking about it with other people. It’s so draining. And I know… I know they’ll look at me differently.”

“Hermione…” Ron began.

“Not because they would blame me,” Hermione added quickly. “But just with… you know, with pity. They’ll always be asking me how it’s going, if they’re any better, and I think it will just depress me if I keep having to report that nothing has changed.” She was thinking of Andromeda, of her conversation with the woman the night before. The same questions, over and over, with frustrating answers. The people would be well-meaning of course, but that didn’t make the prospect of having the conversation any more pleasant.

“I understand,” said Ron. “Whatever you want. We’ll tell people when you’re ready.”

Hermione breathed another sigh of relief, feeling herself relax even more. “I don’t know what I would have done without you these past months, truly. Even though you didn’t know about what was going on, you have made all the difference for me. I don’t really know how to thank you.”

“Be honest with me,” Ron said. “Trust that of all the people in your life, I’m the one who will never walk away, no matter what. That’s all I need.”

Hermione pulled herself tighter against him, not knowing how to properly convey once again the sorrow she felt at keeping things from him for so long. So she simply clutched at him, feeling him do the same, and promised, “I will. I will.”


	31. Eye of the Needle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The wedding is finally upon us! Although Draco has a few things to take care of first...
> 
> Also, sadly, I have to mention that this is the last chapter I had in the bank. I'll be updating as I finish chapters now, which means it will take me longer than a week to post, in most circumstances. I am working very hard on the next chapter, and if I can finish by next Sunday I'll be very proud of myself! But with my work starting back full force I can't make any guarantees. The best way to stay updated on this story is to subscribe, so please do if you want to be kept up to date on new posts!
> 
> And, of course, I have to mention my immense love and gratitude for all who have been following this regularly and leaving comments. Your last response meant so much to me!! 
> 
> Until next time, my friends (hopefully soon!) <333

(Draco)

“What do you mean, they aren’t in yet?”

The lab technician blinked at Draco, seeming unfazed by his ire. “Exactly what I said, Healer. Your results aren’t in yet.”

“I was told they would be ready by 1,” Draco said. “I dropped them off first thing this morning and was told that if I came back at 1, they would be ready for me.”

“First thing in the morning?”

“Before 9 am.”

“Some of us have been here since 4 am,” the lab tech said flatly. “And on a Saturday, no less.”

Draco chewed on his tongue to keep himself from retorting. Because Draco had been at the hospital since 8 am _Friday_ , and his shift was supposed to end 24 hours later. But then Madam Lorenz had shown up, Mila in tow, needing an emergency appointment. Her magic was acting up, and it was such a drastic shift from how things had been going for the past few months that they were very concerned.

And Draco couldn’t walk away from that appointment. He _couldn’t_ , not even on this day of all days.

So he had given Mila an exam, diagnosed the issue, and ordered an analysis of her core membrane to confirm his diagnosis, as per protocol. He couldn’t follow through on treatment until he had confirmation. Unfortunately, the lab appeared to be understaffed and backed up on their scans.

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I imagine that’s frustrating,” he said. If there was one thing he had learned in the past year and a half, it was to stay on the good side of the people that worked in the lab full time. They could really make things difficult for you, if they didn’t like you. “I’m sure you must be exhausted, given that you appear to be stuck here alone.” He looked around, confirming that. “Mortimer was in here earlier, though, wasn’t she? She was the one who told me she would have my results ready for me.”

“She’s on a lunch break,” the tech replied.

“Ah, I see.”

“So when she gets back, you can take it up with her.”

He began to turn away dismissively, which, as far as Draco was concerned, was unacceptable.

“I really can’t afford to wait,” Draco said. “It’s urgent.”

The tech turned back, eyebrows raised skeptically. “More urgent than the many other tests that are in front of yours in the queue?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Draco insisted. “In this case, yes. I’m sure you hear that a lot, but this is quite time-sensitive, for multiple reasons.”

The tech remained unmoved. Draco looked at his watch.

“I’m getting married in less than three hours,” Draco said, going for broke. “My shift was supposed to end hours ago, but this is a special case and I need to see it through. And I also need to be at the venue and dressed and _not_ smelling like a hospital by 4:00.”

The tech’s mouth twitched, a glint coming into his eye. “That’s right. I read something about that. Who is it you’re marrying then? Someone rather important?”

“Oh sod off, you know who it is,” Draco replied with a roll of his eyes, before suddenly realizing that might have sounded quite rude. Luckily, the tech seemed merely amused rather than angry. “Obviously I’m not going to miss my own wedding, but I also can’t walk away from this patient. And I know what you’re thinking,” he added, seeing that the skeptical eyebrows were back. “But I can’t simply pass this off to another Healer. This is a very special patient of mine. She’s just turned sixteen, is moving into the third trimester of a pregnancy that is unprecedented in its potential complications, and already has plenty of trust issues from a painful and difficult childhood. My supervising Healer isn’t here today, and the patient doesn’t know anyone else. Only me. So I _really_ need to be the one to give her the diagnosis and treatment plan. It needs to be me. And if you would be willing to help me out here, I will owe you a very large favor that you can trade in any time you like. How does that sound?”

The tech’s resolve appeared to soften. Whether it was from Draco’s heartfelt appeal to his humanity or the idea of Draco being in his debt, it was impossible to say. Draco found he didn’t much care either way, as long as he got his results.

“Very well,” the tech said with a sigh, standing up and making his way over to the stack of envelopes that represented the queue of samples he was meant to run. “I’ll move yours to the front. Come back in ten minutes and it will be ready for you.”

“I’ll actually just wait here for it, if you don’t mind,” Draco said. He didn’t want to give the tech any excuse to go back on his word, and he wanted the results as soon as possible.

The tech gave him the side-eye and said, “Suit yourself.”

“And thank you very much for your help,” Draco added quickly. “I deeply appreciate it.”

The tech merely grumbled and got to work, taking the vial with Mila’s sample out of the envelope and adding a few drops of a blue potion to it. He placed it on a rack to rest and process and returned his attention to the more complex test he had been running when Draco interrupted him.

“That’s it?” Draco couldn’t help but ask. “Just add the potion and wait?”

“Yes,” the other wizard replied. “That’s it. If the sample turns white, your diagnosis was correct.”

Draco chewed on his lip, biting back the very impatient thought that he definitely could have done this himself hours ago if he’d only had a bit more information. And access to the lab and equipment, of course. But implying to the tech that Draco could be doing that man’s job as well as his own would only breed more resentment, and he was dangerously close to the edge as it was.

So instead he leaned on the wall by the lab doorway and tried to think of other things, things that would distract him from looking at Mila’s vial every ten seconds to see if the sample was changing.

He thought of everything that was about to happen mere hours from now, about the garden that was now in full bloom, his friends in perfectly tailored suits, dress robes, or gowns milling about waiting for the ceremony to start, the gazebo his mother had had constructed where he would finally take Harry’s hands and say the vows he knew he was always meant to say. Vows he had been thinking about long before he and Harry ever got engaged, if he were being honest with himself.

But thinking about that only made him anxious to get this all over with so he could finally go to the manor and get ready. He needed to mentally prepare himself for this day, _properly_ , and he could hardly do it here, at St. Mungo’s.

So instead he thought of Harry, wondering where he was and what he was doing at that very moment. Was he excited, nervous? Was he already being waylaid by his side of the wedding party, urging him to get ready ahead of time? Would be he resisting, fleeing at the sight of Hermione coming for him with a bottle of Sleakeazy’s and a comb? The thought made Draco smile.

He wondered if the photographer had already started taking pictures. He wondered if Pansy and Blaise were doing what he had asked them to do in the Patronus he sent them that morning explaining his lateness, making sure Harry didn’t worry about Draco’s arrival. He wondered if Harry was worrying anyway, starting to question whether Draco would make it on time.

 _Merlin, I need to get out of here_. He glanced at the vial again, seeing that there was no change, and then looked at his watch. Only three minutes had passed. He sighed heavily.

“Where is it you’re going on your honeymoon, then?” the tech suddenly asked him, out of the silence. 

Draco turned to him, though the man hadn’t looked up from his work. “Sorry?”

“Your honeymoon?” the tech said, doing some sort of tilting technique to coat the inner walls of a vial with a thin sheen of pearlescent potion, watching it carefully all the while. “I assume you’re taking one. Or perhaps not. With your schedule, I imagine it’s difficult.”

“New Zealand,” Draco answered. “Only for a week, sadly.” It was all the time he could afford to take off at the moment, but at least it was something.

“Mm,” the tech said. “I’ve never been.”

“Nor have I. Harry wanted to go somewhere really exotic,” Draco explained. “And I wanted to go somewhere warm. It’s summer there right now, you know.”

“Right, of course,” the tech said absently, and Draco thought perhaps that was the end of the conversation. The wizard was still very focused on his work. But then he asked, after a brief silence. “Are you staying in one place, or are you traveling around?”

“Traveling. Around the south island, mostly,” answered Draco. “If we had more time, I would have liked us to stay some places longer. But we want to see as much as we can.”

“Naturally. Better to take advantage of the opportunity.”

“That was our thinking.”

“My wife and I traveled around the Continent for our honeymoon. Tried to see as much as we could in one go.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It was quite fun,” the tech agreed. “We were young then – didn’t have a lot of money – and sleeping in any old place didn’t bother us the way it would now. My wife thought it would be charming to travel like Muggles, all our things in rucksacks, taking the train everywhere.” He rolled his eyes. “The logistics of traveling internationally is a _nightmare_ for Muggles, it turns out.”

“Well, not being able to Apparate makes a big difference, I imagine.”

“Very true,” the man said, smirking. “She wouldn’t want to do it the same way again. We’ve talked about going back to some of our favorite places: Italy, Spain, Switzerland… But if we were to do that, we’d be sure to travel in more style. And spend a lot more on accommodations, I imagine.”

“Like a second honeymoon.”

“Something like that.”

“Harry and I have talked about that too. Doing another trip just the two of us, once I make Senior Healer and we have more time.”

“Mm, not a bad idea. Better get on it before there are kids in the picture, though. That changes everything.”

Draco laughed drily. “A little late for that.” Not that he would trade his situation with Harry and Teddy for anything. But the other man was right. Children changed things. “You have kids?”

“Two daughters. Seven and ten. The older one will be going off to Hogwarts next year. A bit hard to imagine, I’ll be honest.”

“Sure. Well, you get used to having them around.”

“Indeed. I really think my wife will be devastated when the youngest leaves us. I suppose I’ll be at a bit of a loss myself.”

“Perfect time to take a trip to Switzerland, then,” Draco offered. “Take your mind off of it.”

The tech chuckled. “That’s true.” He paused. “Your sample’s done.” He pointed to the vial, which was now full of a cloudy white liquid. “Your diagnosis was correct.”

Draco sighed in relief. “Well, that’s good then.”

“Hold on a second. I’ll write you up the official report, for the paperwork.”

“Thanks.” He realized the tech’s small talk had effectively distracted him, which he supposed was maybe the point. He found himself suddenly flush with a certain amount of gratitude for the man. “I’m realizing I didn’t catch your name.”

“Haversham,” the man replied, handing Draco the completed report. “Carl Haversham.”

Draco took the paper absently, fixated on the name. “Any relation to Kim Haversham, then?”

The man smiled. “She’s my wife.”

“Wow. I had no idea,” Draco said, reconciling that bit of information. “She’s an excellent Mediwitch. I request her all the time for my more sensitive cases.” She was the very Mediwitch that Mila had bonded with.

“Yes,” Haversham agreed. “She is quite exceptional. I’ll tell her you said so.”

“Please do. And thanks for this.” He held up the report. “I meant it, about the favor. Just ask, and it’s yours.”

“Just enjoy your wedding, Healer Malfoy,” replied Haversham, somewhat paternally. “With any luck, you’ll only have the one, so make it count.”

Draco huffed a laugh. “Right.” He waved a final goodbye, realizing he really ought to get a move on. All that talk of honeymoons and such had lured him into distraction, but if he wanted to actually _get_ to his honeymoon, and the ceremony that came before it, he needed to get those results to Mila.

As he approached the MediStation, the witch manning the desk informed him that Mila and Madam Lorenz had returned and been placed in treatment room three. Thanking her, Draco made his way there swiftly.

They were there, looking at him expectantly when he opened the door. “I’m sorry for the wait,” he said. “The lab was behind this morning, and it took some… negotiating to get the results in a reasonable time frame.”

“Quite all right,” said Madam Lorenz, her voice tight with what Draco guessed was anxiety. Draco had tried to explain to both her and Mila that the condition was likely not serious and easily treatable, but their fears were not going to be assuaged until the diagnosis was confirmed. And Draco couldn’t exactly blame them.

“It’s as I expected,” Draco reassured her, looking between her and Mila with a small, calm smile. “A hyperactive core. You’ll be able to come away today with the necessary potion and a treatment plan that will correct with issue within a matter of days. And there has been no harm to you or the baby, I promise.”

Mila sighed in relief, but Lorenz didn’t look quite so comforted.

“I have to say that a hyperactive core _sounds_ a bit more serious than that,” she said. “And the way Mila’s magic was behaving…”

“I know,” Draco said. “It must have frightened you both considerably, especially given Mila’s history. But it’s actually very common, particularly when the mother is under the age of twenty-five.” He looked at Mila again, not wanting her to feel left out of the conversation just because Lorenz was doing all the talking. “You might remember that conversation we had a couple of visits ago, about how your baby’s magical core develops during the second trimester, and how it can be a drain on your own magic.”

Mila nodded. “I remember. I felt really tired all the time. And I could barely do the simplest of spells.”

“Yes, but it also returned to normal after a couple of weeks, yes?” He saw both Mila and Lorenz nod again in confirmation. “That was your core compensating for the drain on your magic, working harder than usual to make sure you and the baby had what you needed. And while the baby’s core was developing, that extra magic was necessary. But your baby’s core is developed now, and your core hasn’t fully caught up with that change. It’s still generating more magical energy than it needs to. That’s why your magic feels unwieldy and a bit more… robust than usual.”

“’Robust’ is one word for it,” Lorenz said drily, and Mila met Draco’s eyes, giving him a sheepish smile. He smiled back in understanding. “Good thing I’ve mastered repairing charms from my many decades at the orphanage, or we’d have a real mess on our hands.”

From what Lorenz had described earlier when she’d first brought Mila in, that was probably true. Apparently it had been a problem for a couple of days: things flying haphazardly across the room when Mila tried to summon something, her practice of cheering charms sending the targets into wild hysterics, and her conjuring an entire mountain of quills when she just meant to conjure the one. It was when she had cast _incendio_ to light her bedside lamp, only to set the entire nightstand on fire instead, that Lorenz decided something was truly wrong and needed to be checked out. It was probably for the best. Mila’s magic would have balanced itself out after a few more weeks, but it would be much better for everyone if she didn’t have to wait that long. Mila was already self-conscious and nervous about her magic as it was.

“I’ve already put in the potion order for you,” he told them, “which you can collect right after we finish up here. You’ll take that once with breakfast and once with dinner. Don’t take it away from food, all right?” Mila nodded. “Your magic is still going to be intense for a few days, so I have also compiled a list of recommended exercises and spells for you to do, which will burn off some of the excess magic and might make your other spell work a little easier on you.” He checked his watch. It was a quarter to two already, much to his chagrin. Harry was probably well and truly worried by now, if not also angry. He swallowed. “I’m sorry, would you mind terribly if I stepped out and sent a quick Patronus? Then I can answer any questions you have.”

“Of course,” said Lorenz, her brow crinkling. “But is everything all right, Healer Malfoy?”

“Yes, yes, everything’s…” He trailed off, looking at his watch again, on reflex. “It’s that I’m actually… getting married today, and I’m running a bit behind.”

Both women made noises of surprise and delight, Mila, for her part, smiling more widely than Draco had ever seen her smile.

“Well, congratulations, Healer Malfoy,” Lorenz said. “I had read something about it in the papers, of course, but I hadn’t realized today was the day.”

“It is,” Draco said with a sigh. “And the ceremony’s in just a couple of hours, so I just need to-“

“A couple of hours?” the older woman said, alarmed. “What in magic’s name are you still doing here then? Surely… surely you didn’t stay just for us?” 

“No…” Draco began, although of course, that was a lie. “I had some things to take care of here, and then I just wanted to make sure… Well, this is an important case to me and I knew you were worried…”

“Oh, you sweet, ridiculous man!” Lorenz cried. “Hand me that parchment.”

“What?”

“The parchment you’re holding, with the potions prescription and all your instructions. The thing you always give us at the end of the appointment. Give it here.”

She suddenly sounded so stern that Draco merely did what she asked in silence. Lorenz looked it over with narrowed eyes.

“Yes, all right, very good. This is all in order. I understand it perfectly. Now go.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Go!” she cried, and actually made a shooing motion with her hand. “We’ve been through this all before. We’ll check out at the MediStation as usual, and we’ll owl you if we have any questions.”

“Yes, all right, but…” Draco said, feeling at a loss. He knew he _ought_ to be hurrying, but it felt strange to leave it like this. “I’ll be out of the country on my honeymoon for the next week, so if you _do_ have questions-“

“Yes, yes, we’ll owl Healer Iwu instead. Very good. Now _go_. You have Mr. Potter waiting for you, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Draco replied, a bit breathlessly. “I do.” He looked at Mila, just for good measure, to make sure there wasn’t more she needed. She was still grinning at him, her eyes wide and warm.

“Go,” she said, and though her insistence was quieter than Lorenz’s, it carried the same weight, if not more. “Go get married.”

“All right,” Draco said, finally accepting that they meant it. He grinned at both of them. “I’m off to get married then, I suppose. Um, goodbye!”

“Goodbye, Healer Malfoy!” Lorenz called after him as he fled the room. “The best of luck to you both!”

Draco would have thanked her if he weren’t already halfway down the hallway, making his way toward the floo. There was no point in sending a Patronus now; he would arrive at the manor before it did. He would just have to arrive unannounced and deal with the consequences. And he hoped they wouldn’t be _too_ dire.

He had plenty of time to get ready, didn’t he? He’d always been adept at making himself presentable in a hurry. Still, he also knew everyone had been waiting around for him for hours, having no idea when exactly he was going to show, and that would likely stir up some irritation.

He entered the floo, calling out “Malfoy Manor” and praying that Harry wasn’t pulling his hair out already.

He was barely out of the fireplace before he was pounced upon by a shrill and aggressive Pansy Nott.

“Draco Malfoy!” she screeched at him. “You are in _so_ much trouble.”

Draco sighed. So it was going to be _this_ kind of experience, then. “I’m sorry. Everything took longer than I expected. But I’m here now, and we have two full hours for me to get ready, so-“

“Two _full hours_?” The woman repeated. “Not on your life, you complete idiot.” She began dragging him down the hall and towards his usual suite of rooms as she continued her tirade. “Have you forgotten that your mother wanted a whole set of wedding photos of both sides _before_ the ceremony? In _various_ venues of the house and _during_ preparations, so that we all have to get ready at the same time?”

“Merlin,” Draco said. He hadforgotten that little detail. But now that he thought about it, that was true. And it was also true, he was finally noticing, that Pansy, while already in her dress, did not have her hair done or any makeup on. Good Godric. It was lucky she hadn’t murdered him already. “That’s a ridiculous set of expectations.”

“Well, that’s Narcissa Black for you, so I’m not sure why you’re surprised. And it’s not as if I was going to argue the point with her. I _like_ my limbs intact, thank you very much.”

They entered the suite to find the rest of Draco’s side of the party – Blaise, Hannah, and Theo – all dressed but, like Pansy, not yet groomed. There was also a photographer, standing around and looking a bit bored as he fiddled with his camera. There was a collective sigh of relief as they all caught sight of Draco and a round of “thank the gods” and “where have you been” before Pansy shut them all up.

“Draco is getting in the shower,” she informed the room. “And we can start doing our hair and makeup, so long as we don’t finish before he gets out, so at least there are _some_ pictures of us all together. Are we agreed?”

They were.

“Blaise, would you inform Narcissa that her son has arrived and that we have everything under control?” Pansy asked the best man. “And inform Harry and his side, while you’re at it.”

Blaise gave Pansy a mock salute and Draco a knowing smirk as he passed them to leave the suite.

“How is Harry? Is he upset?” Draco asked her anxiously as he unbuttoned his Healer robes.

“Your fiancé is a true saint, Malfoy,” she replied. “He was completely calm about the whole thing. Kept insisting you would be here on time and that we shouldn’t worry. Of course, it’s not _his_ job to make you fit for a wedding in less than an hour.”

“It’s not really your job either, you know,” Draco argued, removing his shirt now that Pansy was practically shoving him into the bathroom. “I’m perfectly capable-“

“The point is…” Pansy interrupted him. She’d followed him in and was now turning on the shower for him, as if he really _wasn’t_ capable of doing such things himself. “…that were you marrying someone with _normal_ reactions to this sort of thing… Well, let’s just say that if Theo had pulled this on me two hours before our wedding…”

“You’d have left him at the altar?”

“No,” Pansy said, smirking. “I’d have still gone through with it. And then strangled him in his sleep on our wedding night as punishment.”

“Lovely image,” Draco said, removing his trousers now, since he really did need to get in that shower soon and Pansy didn’t appear to be going anywhere. “Is Theo aware of your proclivities?”

“He’s been married to me for three years. Of course he is. Now get in the sodding shower before I shove you in there.”

“You’re still here and I need to remove my pants.”

The witch rolled her eyes. “Prude. As if it matters if I see you naked.” But she made her way towards the door anyway. “Make sure you scrub _thoroughly_ ,” she called to him as she left. “You smell like antiseptic potion and baby sick!”

“Wonderful,” Draco said under his breath when she finally closed the door behind her. He removed his underwear and, happy to find that the water was the perfect temperature, stepped into the shower.

Pansy had stocked it with all his favorites, everything he could possibly need to emerge smelling normal again. He wasn’t surprised, really, just silently grateful as he grabbed the exfoliating body scrub and set to work. He felt no need to impress Pansy, of course, but her approval would most certainly mean that Harry would approve as well, and that _was_ the goal.

 _Harry_. As the hot water ran down Draco’s back he also allowed Pansy’s reassuring (albeit snarky) commentary on his fiancé’s state of mine wash through him, easing some of the anxiety that had been knotting itself in his shoulders. He would not have blamed Harry if he had come barging in that very moment to give him a talking to, even if it meant breaking Narcissa’s steadfast rule that the two men shouldn’t see each other until the big “reveal” right before the ceremony was set to start. But to know that the man apparently had complete faith that Draco was going to show was the far more preferable scenario, not to mention a much more auspicious beginning to their life together. Draco made a mental note show the full extent of his gratitude later, when they could be alone.

The sudden opening of the bathroom door broke Draco out of his thoughts, and he let out an indignant squawk at having his privacy violated once more. The glass of the large and luxurious shower stall wasn’t remotely textured or opaque, and the layer of fog that had built up was hardly enough to shield him.

“I’m hanging your tuxedo trousers and shirt on the door,” Pansy called to him. “Now hurry up and get clean and dressed! The photographer is getting bored.”

She closed the door again, not bothering to wait for confirmation that she’d been heard and understood. Draco rolled his eyes, a temptation overcoming him to take an additional twenty minutes just to spite her. But the reasonable part of him was aware that it was his fault entirely that they were rushed, so he simply reached for the shampoo and proceeded to lather up his hair with efficiency.

Finally, when it was apparent that he was as clean and fresh-smelling as he was going to get, he proceeded with the toweling off and the very careful drying of his hair with magic, so that the strands were soft and smooth. He was so careful with the procedure, in fact, that Pansy started pounding on the door impatiently.

“I heard the shower go off five minutes ago!” she yelled. “Stop staring at yourself and get out here.”

“I was doing my hair, you tiresome cow,” he replied. “And I’m about to get dressed, so just keep your knickers on.” But he grabbed the clothes and rushed to put them on, nonetheless.

Soon he appeared with the rest of them, presentable and mostly dressed, and was descended on again by Pansy, who had his jacket and purple tie ( _amethyst_ , his mother had insisted repeatedly) ready for him to don and who also wanted the opportunity to get her own hands on his hair.

“No product, Pansy,” Draco said, throwing his hands up protectively and squirming away like a child avoiding his mother. “Harry doesn’t like my hair when it’s too stiff.”

“This isn’t like that god-awful gel you used to use in first year, for Merlin’s sake,” Pansy replied. “This won’t stiffen it, just let it holds it’s shape for the night so it doesn’t go flat during the reception and all that dancing you too are bound to do.”

Maybe it was the fact that she had a point, or maybe it was the photographer snapping away as they argued, but Draco gave in, standing there as still as he could while Pansy did her work, doing his best not to scowl and ruin the pictures. He was relieved when the photographer stepped away again to capture a few shots of Hannah finishing her eye makeup and Theo straightening his tie. Finally, after much longer than Draco really thought necessary, she declared his hair finished and left him to don the rest of his tuxedo while she worked on her makeup.

Blaise returned only a few minutes later, mercifully, and Draco immediately asked after Harry and how he seemed.

“He was telling the room ‘I told you so’ when I left,” Blaise replied. “Though I caught a bit of relief when I first informed him you were here.” He sat down on one of the sofas with a sigh.

“Of course you did,” said Pansy as she did her mascara. “We all know, whatever confidence Harry exudes, there is always a small part of him who doubts that he’s loved.”

The room was silent after Pansy’s frank insight, and Draco felt another squeezing of guilt in his gut. Pansy met his eyes in the vanity mirror.

“Hope your vows are good,” she said lightly.

“They’re exceptional,” replied Draco, hoping this was true. “There won’t be a dry eye in the house. Or the… garden, as it were.”

_Harry will know he’s loved. I’ll make sure of it._

Perhaps sensing some of Draco’s distress, Pansy changed the subject, asking Blaise how the other side of the wedding party looked compared to theirs, including the other groom.

“He looks very handsome and presentable,” Blaise reassured Draco, though Draco didn’t much need reassuring in that regard. “The other men are in black, which I think is a bit boring if I’m honest.”

Draco grinned at Blaise lounging comfortably in his purple suit. If anyone could pull off color like that, it was Blaise. But not everyone had his versatility.

“Blame my mother for that one,” he said. “She was too intimated by that Weasley red hair, I think.”

Blaise smirked at him - likely amused by the idea of Narcissa Black being intimidated by _anything_ \- before the smirk softened into something else. “The women look stunning.” He paused, sighing dramatically. “Especially Vesper.”

This was met with a few beats of silence, until Pansy interjected, rather gamely, “Well let’s face it. For all her sportiness, Vesper can certainly wear a gown. I’d kill for her arms.”

“You have beautiful arms, love,” Theo said from the sofa, where he’d joined Blaise now that he was fully groomed and ready. “All that lugging our daughter around, I reckon.”

“Thank you, darling.” She’d been straightening Draco’s tie, making sure the shape was just right, but as she turned to smile at her husband she also seemed to catch sight of Blaise’s wistful expression. Draco had caught it too.

“I’m going to put a cheering charm on you if you can’t manage cheerfulness on your own,” she warned him. “This is Draco’s wedding! At least _try_ to look happy.”

“Sorry, you’re right,” the man said, sitting up and looking a bit more alive. “What’s left to do then?”

Pansy took a step back and looked Draco over, her sharp eyes taking it all in. “Nothing,” she declared. “There’s nothing left to do. You’re perfect.” She looked around the room. “You’re all perfect. Now let’s go get the photos over with.”

What followed was a whirlwind of “wait and hurry-up” while Draco’s side of the party was dragged to various venues of the house, molded into different configurations, and then told to remain that way while lighting and focus was checked. It was a relief when the photographer would finally start snapping shots, but the relief didn’t last long. He kept rearranging them into different positions, different combinations, reminding them to stand up straight and smile, to keep their eyes open when the flash went off. He would take a whole series rapidly while saying things like, “lovely, beautiful, you’re perfect, nicely done,” before lowering his camera and rearranging them once again.

And when the series in the conservatory was done, they did it all over again in the ballroom, followed by the arboretum. By the end, Draco thought it was a true miracle that he hadn’t pulled his hair out. The only thing stopping him, really, was knowing he would face Pansy’s wrath if he so much as touched a single strand.

Narcissa made an appearance every now and then, swooping in for a few photos with her son before swooping out again to deal with some wedding detail or another. Draco barely had time to converse with her, which was probably for the best given that she would likely tell him off as well for being late. He was happy to avoid that, if possible.

Still, he had thought he’d get a bit more time with her before the ceremony started. He caught her slightly watery smile directed at him every time she whisked away to deal with an issue, and he thought that perhaps at least a part of her was having trouble keeping her emotions in check and didn’t want anyone to see. 

Finally, by some miracle, the photo session was declared finished and the party was told to take their places by the doors leading out to the rose garden, where they would enter for the procession.

Everyone except Draco, apparently, who was slated to wait in a private powder room just off the ballroom for the ceremony to start.

“You’ll be glad, trust me,” Pansy said to him as she led him there. “Just go on in.”

He did, shutting the door behind him, and when he turned…

There was Harry.

They simply stood there for a minute or two, Draco, for his part, staring in wonderment at the almost painfully beautiful vision that was Harry Potter in a tuxedo. The suit was tailored to perfection, his shoes were smart and polished, his hair was sleek and well-styled, and his eyes had never looked so green. Draco swallowed, rendered utterly speechless.

“You look amazing,” Harry said, grinning in a way that was almost… shy.

“ _You_ look amazing,” Draco echoed, finally finding his voice. He took a few steps towards Harry. “Your hair. How did you…?”

“I know, right? It was all Hermione,” Harry replied, his eyes rolling up towards his hairline as if he could see his own head from there. Draco reached out, wanting to find out if the strands were as soft as they usual were, but Harry caught his wrist with Seeker reflexes. “Don’t even think about it,” he said, smiling again. “This took _hours_ , you have no idea. Hermione _and_ your mother will kill me twice over if I mess it up.”

“I suppose I can mess it up plenty after the reception,” Draco conceded, bringing Harry’s hand to his mouth and kissing it. “And it would be nice to enjoy it for a little while in its current glory, because I imagine I’m never going to see it this tamed ever again.”

“No, never. This is very much a one-time deal,” Harry said, and both men chuckled.

They were quiet for a minute, holding hands.

“I’m sorry I was late,” Draco blurted. “I really meant to be here hours ago, but I had a patient…”

“It’s all right,” Harry said. “Pansy explained everything to me. And I knew you would get here as soon as you could.”

“She said you were very calm. I wasn’t sure if it was because you weren’t actually worried or if you were just putting on a brave face for everyone.”

“I knew you would show.” Harry’s voice was firm and confident. “You’d never leave me waiting at the altar.”

“Or ever,” Draco added, for good measure, and Harry blushed.

“Did I have some… wondering if we were going to have to push the ceremony back a few minutes?” Harry went on, looking almost sheepish. “I mean, yeah, I did have that thought.”

“I would never have cut it that close,” said Draco, kissing Harry’s hand again as he held it in his own. “Not even to avoid the apparent hell that is taking wedding photos,” he added, hoping to hear Harry’s laugh.

He was well rewarded. Harry shook his head, still grinning. “We always knew it would seem like torture for me, at least. Though I always thought you liked having your picture taken.”

“I did. But this experience has cured me of that forever.”

“Such a drama queen,” Harry said, rolling his eyes, though they were still bright with affection.

“That’s the man you’re marrying. Better get used to it.”

Harry let out another small laugh, but it almost sounded a bit choked. His eyes were lowered, focusing on the center of Draco’s chest.

“Are you nervous?” Draco asked him.

Harry gaze rose to meet his. “Excited mostly.”

“Same here.”

“And I suppose I’m a little nervous too,” Harry admitted, after a few seconds of silence. “About messing up in front of everyone.”

“No one would care, or even notice, necessarily, if you did,” Draco said, though he did have a few butterflies in his stomach himself at the prospect. “I certainly won’t care if you do.”

“You won’t divorce me on the spot?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Draco said readily, deciding now was a time for sincerity. One of his hands reached up to brush Harry’s cheek.

“It’s difficult,” Harry said, leaning into the touch, “because I’m torn between wanting to just be married to you already and have it done with, and wanting to enjoy it while it’s happening like everyone says I should.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Draco said. “Maybe that’s why my mother had us take so many pictures. To remind us later in case it all goes by too fast.”

“Of course. Nothing like a wedding album the size of our dining room table to help us relive the event twenty years from now.”

They both had a good laugh at that image, and it was nice, to release some of that restless, excited energy. Draco brought Harry closer, so they were almost nose to nose.

“Merlin. I love you,” he said softly.

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry replied, smirking. “Save it for the vows.”

“Trust me. I’ll have plenty more to say on the matter in just a few minutes.”

“A few minutes,” Harry whispered, as though he couldn’t believe it.

Draco rested his forehead against Harry’s, enjoying this one last, quiet moment.

It was a brief one too, as Draco heard the door open behind him. He turned to see his mother and Molly Weasley enter the room, both of them looking elegant in their gowns. Molly immediately wrapped them both in one of her famous motherly hugs.

“You boys look so handsome,” she gushed. “I’d kiss you as well, but I don’t want to cover you in lipstick.” She patted Harry’s cheek. 

Narcissa remained by the door, standing more stiffly than was really necessary. But Draco knew that was just her way of managing everything she was feeling. He could see it in the shimmer of her eyes and the small curve of her smile.

“Are you both ready, then?” Molly asked. “The rest of the party is in position. They’re waiting for us.”

Draco exchanged a look with Harry, who nodded. “Ready,” Draco answered her.

The women exited in front of them, and Draco reached out a hand to his soon-to-be husband. “Here we go.”

Harry accepted it, intertwining their fingers. “Here we go.”


	32. Be Good to Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL. Sooo... I'm alive at least. I was sad to be away from AO3 for so long, but when the school year started in September it became obvious that I was going to need to put fic on the back burner and focus on my students, my novel, my family, and my life in general. I am so so grateful to those who still chose to comment during that time, since it did spark me to occasionally return to this chapter and work on it. Somehow it's done, and I thank you so very much for that support! I really let those comments pile up but I have already started working on answering them, so I hope you can be patient with me for the next couple of weeks! And I do have a plan going forward for writing fic regularly, so I'm hoping Ch 33 won't take nearly as long as this one did.
> 
> The last chapter was pretty much the worst one to have run out of chapters on, considering the wedding was next. I put a lot of pressure on myself about this one, worried that I had built up this moment too much and then I was somehow going to let everyone down. I love these boys and I wanted their wedding to be beautiful and also feel unique to this story, like it couldn't just be cut and pasted and shoved in some other Drarry fic. I don't know if I accomplished that, or if any of it is what you were hoping for. But over the past few months I had to learn to let off the pressure and just make what I wanted. 
> 
> So here's Harry and Draco's wedding in all its fluffy glory. I do hope it satisfies you in some way, and I hope you will still be on board for the rest of this story. There is much more to come! <333

(Harry)

Harry clutched at Draco’s hand, hoping his didn’t feel too clammy. He’d been understating it a bit when talking about his nerves, because he didn’t want Draco to think any of it came from doubts about their marriage.

He had every faith in the world about their success as a couple.

It was just that the whole thing had been so overwhelming since the day began. His morning had been about wrangling Teddy and making sure they both had everything for the wedding to take to the manor with them, and then the afternoon had been full of manhandling and being positioned for a million photographs.

And then there was the waiting around, which was the hardest bit, really. He wasn’t allowed to touch his hair and if he wanted to sit he had to do it carefully so as not to risk messing up his tux. And there was the fact that his fiancé hadn’t shown yet, which had everyone all in a tizzy. Harry found himself a bit put out that _he_ was the one that had to remain calm and reassure everyone.

Draco was going to show. Of course he was. There was never a doubt, and why everyone had to make a lot of drama about it was beyond him. Wasn’t there enough to be excited about without that?

Not to mention, the house was full of bouquets of roses and gardenias, and the fragrance became a bit dizzying after a while. Or maybe it was just the impending realization that in a few short hours, Harry would be _married._

News of Draco’s arrival had been a relief, but it was nothing compared to finally laying eyes on him again. It only reaffirmed what a grounding force Draco was in his life, a touchstone amid all the chaos. It had been that way since eighth year, perhaps even before, and Harry was struck suddenly by an overwhelming gratitude for him, and by the incredible truth that he would have Draco for the rest of his life.

 _I should have planned to say some of that in my vows_ , his mind supplied, and which he didn’t find at all helpful. The vows were written, tucked away inside his jacket as insurance that he didn’t forget any of it. It was probably bad form to start winging them during the ceremony.

Merlin, his vows. He’d worked very hard on them, but still didn’t feel they were good enough. Draco was so eloquent and no doubt had captured his feelings perfectly. Harry had not been born with the same gift, and yet he’d felt strange about asking for help. Hermione would certainly have given it if he’d asked, but then they wouldn’t really be his words anymore, would they? It was one thing to have extra writers and editors for a major speech, or his PR team at the foundation to help craft a message for his public statements, but these were his _vows_. They needed to come from him.

Harry took a few deep, steadying breaths as he and Draco joined the rest of the wedding party, as Narcissa put everyone into order of position and reminded them of the timing of the procession.

It would be all right, he reminded himself. It would actually be very nice, all told. Like Harry, Draco knew full well the man he was marrying, and he would appreciate Harry’s words if only for the fact that they came directly from his heart, and were the truth.

It was finally Harry and Draco’s turn to get into position. The music had already started swelling outside and Victoire had been sent out, basket of flower petals in hand. Draco’s steady, grounding grip loosened as Narcissa looped an arm around her son’s, pulling him further front. Draco looked back at Harry as they separated, a wistful smile on his face that Harry returned.

Thankfully Molly came to join with him at that very moment, her solid presence next to him something he could steady himself against, despite their differences in height. He offered his arm to her, and she took it, her eyes already a bit watery.

“I’m so happy for you, my dear,” she said softly to him. They were slowly getting closer to the doors as each new member of the procession was sent out ahead of them. “And excited for you as well, of course.”

“Thanks, Molly,” Harry said, perhaps a bit shyly.

“A marriage is a beautiful, powerful thing. It will challenge you as much as it will delight you. But if any two people can handle it, I know that you and Draco can.”

He found her hand and squeezed it. “I think so too,” he agreed. He knew she was right. He and Draco had already had their fair share of challenges in the four years they’d been living together, and one or two before that, when they were still at Hogwarts. But they’d also always found their way, back to the solid foundation that they’d built, back to each other.

Draco and Narcissa were next in the procession now, and Harry found his heart pounding wildly as he watched them exit the doors, as he got his first real glimpse of what lay beyond it.

They had kept the guest list as limited as possible, but that had still generated more people than they initially thought possible. Friends and family had been the priority, of course, but there were also people they worked with and cared about who they wanted present. Though Harry didn’t socialize much with Naomi outside of work, and Draco didn’t with his mentor, Healer Iwu, they both made their way onto the list, along with other coworkers they had each gotten closer to over the years. It wouldn’t have felt right to Harry not to include the team he worked with at the foundation, what with all the support and respect that had shown him as he learned the ropes as deputy head. And he knew Draco had bonded with many of his fellow Healing students and trainees, a trial by fire in many cases that had brought them closer together.

And then both Molly and Narcissa had had a number of suggestions, and the whole thing had spiraled out of control.

So there were considerably more people filling the garden then Harry had really imagined before, and they were all now standing from their seats, faces turned to watch as Draco and Narcissa came down the aisle. Their heads swiveled slowly as the pair passed by, grinning and occasionally nodding to each other, as if in agreement of how lovely everything looked. Harry would have taken in the loveliness of their surroundings as well, if he could, but he was a bit fixed on the sight of Draco reaching the end of the aisle, receiving a kiss from his mother, and going to stand on the right side, next to Blaise and the other members of the procession. Harry caught him flashing a few guests in the front a nervous grin, and his heart tripped in his chest.

“Our turn now,” Molly reminded him, not that he needed much reminding. As soon as they stepped forward, all the faces were once again turned, and Harry felt their gazes like a prickling heat on his skin. He tried not to let too much of that heat go to his face as he moved forward, still attached to Molly, with steady, deliberate steps. He wished he could pick up the pace a little more, actually. The attention was uncomfortable and strange, and the sooner he could reach Draco, the better. When he was with Draco, everything else seemed to fall away.

But Molly kept him anchored against her, and the music dictated the rhythm of his steps, and so he had no choice but to accept it. He kept his eyes ahead, watching as the rest of the wedding party drew steadily closer, the women in their gowns holding their bouquets at just the right height (heavily instructed by Narcissa beforehand) and the men in their suits, hands clasped politely in front of them. They were all staring at Harry too, grinning, and it struck Harry as so _odd,_ suddenly, that this was all for him. For him and Draco.

They were nearly there now, and Harry finally let himself look at Draco again. He had been avoiding it, if only because he thought it would make him feel even more self-conscious. But as he met his almost-husband’s eyes, he realized he maybe should have been focusing on Draco all along. The man’s smile was small and close-lipped, but full of love, and his soft gaze on Harry was warm, reassuring, understanding. It was like Draco knew exactly what all was going through Harry’s head, without having to ask, and he likely did. Harry smiled back, feeling just a little bit calmer.

Finally, mercifully, he and Molly reached the end, and he tore his eyes from Draco to give her a kiss on the cheek and the squeeze of a shoulder in silent thanks. She met his eyes briefly before turning away and finding her seat amongst the other redheads in the front row.

His hands slipped easily into Draco’s, and they held onto each other as Arthur began speaking and all of the guests took their seats once more.

“Thank you everyone. And welcome. We gather here today to bear witness to the bonding of Harry James Potter and Draco Lucius Malfoy in a lifelong commitment to one another. We gather also as celebrants with them in the start of this new life, in the joining of their families, and in the intertwining of their magic for the rest of time. This bond they make fully and happily together, without pressure or coercion, and with the full knowledge of their commitment and its responsibilities.”

Harry stared down at his and Draco’s hands together as he listened to Arthur’s words with new ears. He’d heard all of this already, multiple times, since the start of all the wedding planning. Draco had read to him from old Malfoy family texts so they could determine what passages they wanted their officiant to read. Harry had been a little overwhelmed by the options at first, and not really sure _what_ felt like the right words for Arthur to speak. A lot of it had sounded nice and pretty, putting their devotion to each other in much more poetic terms than Harry ever could. But then there were elements that were much less romantic, talking about coercion and responsibilities… Harry hadn’t really known what to make of all that, until Draco explained that it was left over from a time when marriages were arranged, when both families wanted there to be every appearance of a love match, while at the same time reminding those marrying of the seriousness of the situation and the obligations of each to their family honor.

It all sounded ridiculous to Harry, and he’d said so, but he also hadn’t fought Draco too hard when he wanted to keep that one particular line, because he had been willing to drop so much of the rest.

And now, listening to it, Harry actually found himself a bit moved by it all. They _weren’t_ entering into this decision lightly, and were certainly doing so without pressure or coercion. The decision was born completely of love, and also with the understanding that this _was_ forever. Harry knew full well what this commitment meant, and to hear it acknowledged made some weighty and grounded fill his chest, almost to bursting. He gripped Draco tighter as Arthur continued.

“I first met Harry when I came home one morning eleven years ago to find him sitting in the kitchen with my children,” Arthur went on. “If I recall correctly, I proceeded to get to know him by hounding him with questions about the Muggle world, all of which he answered with politeness and patience.”

There was some tittering and laughing from the crowd with this little anecdote, and Harry found himself grinning at the memory.

“I was struck, even then, by both his kindness and his humility, and only a bit later came to discover his extensive courage and his deep passion for doing what’s right. It did not take long at all for us to embrace him as part our family, as he remains to this day.”

Harry stared at his feet, face burning but secretly pleased. He felt the squeeze of Draco’s hands in reassurance.

“I have not had the privilege of knowing Draco for nearly as long, but when his attachment to Harry brought him into our lives, I was faced with a very pleasant surprise. Clever, a bit sharp perhaps at times, and deeply caring. I could see immediately how they were so well matched as partners. They both have the courage of their convictions. They both love and feel deeply. They strengthen each other. And yet they also bring balance. I have seen Harry’s fiery temper calmed by Draco’s cool head. I have seen Draco’s sharp edges soften through Harry’s compassion and gentleness. And now, standing before me, I see two men who bring out the best in each other, who are deeply connected and committed to one another through what they have found in each other, and in themselves.

“As a man who has been married for over thirty years myself, I am unable to resist offering a little bit of advice,” he said smilingly, now looking directly between Harry and Draco. “For this day may mark the beginning of your married life, but know that your marriage may not always take the same form as it does in the beginning. You may find it grows and changes as you inevitably grow and change. We move through many phases in our lives, some easy, some difficult, some beautiful, some painful. Our relationships reflect that, react to it. We must be both flexible and tenacious, both loving and true to ourselves, in order to keep the communication open and the connection strong. I have every faith that you, Harry and Draco, with all that you have survived and with all that you have built, with how deeply you care for and are committed to each other, will take on this wonderful work with grace, kindness, and fierce love.”

The crowd hummed their agreement, and Harry felt almost pulled out of a stupor. Listening closely to Arthur’s words, he’d nearly forgotten everyone else was there.

“And now it is time for the grooms to make their vows to each other,” Arthur said, and Harry wouldn’t help but think it was a rather inconvenient time to realize they had an audience. “Harry will go first with his vows to Draco,” Arthur went on, giving Harry a soft, understanding look.

Harry was wishing, as he fished the bit of folded parchment from his inside pocket, that he had somehow found a way to memorize the words instead. His hands were shaky, made all the more obvious by the twitching of the page between his fingers.

Of course, if he _had_ tried to memorize the words, he would probably be worried about forgetting something, so it was just as well.

A pale hand on his steadied him a bit, and he looked into Draco’s eyes, which were warm in the afternoon light.

“Take your time, love,” he said, so softly that Harry doubted anyone could hear but him, and perhaps Arthur.

Harry huffed a small, nervous laugh, grinning back at his soon to be husband. He then took a deep breath, looked down at the words he had read through a million times already, and began speaking, trying very deliberately not to rush.

“Draco,” he began, and it was almost a sigh. “It’s probably not possible to capture the entirety of our complicated history in a single paragraph. I imagine it would take many volumes, actually. We have been so many things to each other, and we didn’t have the best of starts did we?”

That earned him a few laughs from the guests, and he felt himself relax a little.

“I was a confused boy who had just found out he was a wizard and didn’t know what he was getting into, and you were a confused boy who simply wanted to be my friend, and went about it the wrong way.”

He paused as he saw Draco smile and nod knowingly, and he smiled back.

“We’ve wondered before, together, you and I, what we would do differently if we could do it over. I’ve had a different answer every time, I think. But now… with you – with us – now, I know I would do it all again, for this, for what we have. It was worth it, every difficult thing. Every painful thing was worth it to me.”

He risked a glance up at Draco, to find him hanging on Harry’s every word. He swallowed.

“I think we both resented much from that time in our lives. We were pieces in a game, being manipulated by players who were older and more powerful than us. We were forced to make difficult choices, or, sometimes, had no choices at all. But we survived it. And we did that by putting the petty things aside, by putting the hate aside and helping each other. And I’m proud of that.

“And, above all, I’m proud of the fact that when I finally had good choices, when I finally had the chance to make my own future, that I chose you. You, Draco, are the best choice I ever made, and I can’t believe how lucky I am that you chose me back. I can’t believe how lucky I am that we fit together so well, that our history didn’t get in the way of us, but actually made us stronger. It helped us understand each other, the painful things and the joyful things. We built trust, honesty, and love out of all that history, and I really think that’s the most amazing, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever been a part of.

“So, today, on the day of our wedding, I promise you that I will work hard every day to keep that trust, honesty, and love between us. I promise to be there with you through all the painful things and all the joyful things, to share in the burdens and the celebrations. I promise to be true to you, always, to put you and our family first, always. And I promise to keep choosing you, as the man I love, as my partner, every day for the rest of my life.”

He’d reached the end of his vows, and let out a slow breath at the release of that. That he’d done it, and not messed up at all. If anything, it seemed he’d done well, if the sniffles from the audience and Draco’s brimming eyes were anything to go by. He gripped Draco’s hands in his and squeezed, whispering, “I love you. I love you for always.”

It wasn’t a part of what he had written, but it felt like the right way to finish. Draco gripped him back hard, at least until Arthur spoke, and Harry took the opportunity to tuck his vows back inside his jacket.

“And now Draco will make his vows to Harry.”

The hands on his tightened even more as Draco paused for breath, as if gathering himself.

“Harry,” he began. Harry could feel now that it was Draco’s hands that were shaking, still clutching his, and Harry smiled at him. Draco licked his lips. “There are days I wake up and I don’t know how it’s possible that this is my life. A life with you is something I dreamed about for years before it ever happened, and in all that time dreaming, I never actually believed it _would_ happen. I try to retrace my steps, go back to the beginning so I can figure out what I did do deserve this, to deserve you.” He shook his head. “And I honestly still don’t know. I know at some point in adolescence my hatred and resentment towards you turned into love and attraction. I know that when I finally came of age I realized that the challenges we were up against were much more important than some petty rivalry between us. I know that I couldn’t bring myself to give you up to _him_ , not even to save myself. But those were all turning points for _me_ , internally, and for me alone. It didn’t change things between us, really. Maybe because I wasn’t brave enough, or I didn’t know how.

“The truth is, it was all you, for reasons I still can’t explain, as much as we’ve talked about them, as much as we’ve rehashed all the pivotal moments of our history together. It was you who risked everything to save me from the Fiendfyre; it was you who stood up for me at the end of the war; and it was you who, one seemingly ordinary Tuesday, came to sit down next to me in Potions class and asked to be my partner. And changed everything. The course of my entire life.

“What we’ve already started building together is…” He trailed off, and Harry waited expectantly, his heart thrumming away in his chest. Draco took a few deep breaths, and Harry realized that he wasn’t going to find out what came next for at least another minute. Draco’s breathing was shaky now, and his hands were trembling too. His eyes were downcast, but Harry could see some moisture forming on the outer edges of his pale lashes, and he knew now why Draco had stopped.

Harry tilted forward enough he could whisper without being overheard.

“It’s all right, love,” he said. “We’re in no hurry.”

“Just give me a few more seconds,” Draco said throatily. “I’ll get it together.”

Harry wanted to tell him he didn’t _have_ to get it together, that he could do all the rest of his vows crying his eyes out if that was easier, but he didn’t get the chance. Draco was looking up again, eyes wet but meeting Harry’s determinedly, and he continued.

“What we’ve already started building together is better than anything my adolescent self could have ever dreamed up. It’s better than the most elaborate fantasies I concocted to help me survive the darkest times. And what’s more, I look at you every day and realize it’s only going to get better and better.

“I’ll never know what I did to deserve this life with you, but I promise to never take it for granted. I promise to love you fully with every bit of myself for the rest of our very long lives. I promise to keep building with you, keep growing with you, keep learning with you. I promise to be the person you can always turn to, the person who makes a point to always know you best, to know what you need. I promise to put you - and our family - first, above all else. I know full well that life is unpredictable, and I’m sure it will throw more challenges our way. But I also know you’re the only one I’d want to face those challenges with, and I promise to always remember that. I love you.”

Draco finally finished, and Harry felt like throwing himself at the other man and kissing him senseless. Unfortunately, they hadn’t arrived at that part of the ceremony yet. And he supposed the next bit _was_ rather important.

“And now that Harry and Draco have made their promises to each other,” Arthur said, “they will seal their bond with the exchanging of rings. We’ll begin with Draco.”

A ring on a small red cushion floated up beside Harry, and he recognized it as the platinum one that he had infused with his gold essence, with Narcissa’s assistance, only a month before. He picked it up carefully, holding it between his fingers as he awaited further instruction.

“Repeat after me, Draco,” Arthur said, and Draco nodded. As Arthur spoke the words, Draco echoed them, looking at Harry with intensity all the while

“I, Draco Lucius Malfoy…”

“...bond myself to you, Harry James Potter, for the remainder of my life.”

“I hereby connect my magic with yours…”

“...and promise to cherish, protect, and support you…”

“...for as long as we live.”

Harry knew this was the moment that he was supposed to put Draco’s ring on his slim, elegant finger, and he did so. It fit perfectly, no doubt aided by magic, and he smiled, holding Draco’s hand in his.

“And now for Harry’s final bonding vows,” Arthur said, as another ring came floating up, next to Draco this time. As Draco made to pick it up, Harry couldn’t help craning his neck a little to get a good look, not having seen it before. It was platinum like Draco’s, of course, and he could see the same lattice design that his own essence had created in Draco’s ring, except this lattice was criss-crosses of a lovely, deep turquoise.

Harry thought it was perfect.

He oscillated between staring at the ring in Draco’s slightly shaking hands and staring at a pink-cheeked Draco himself as Harry repeated the same vows. Then Draco was slipping the ring onto Harry’s finger, and Harry felt it fit itself snugly, as if getting situated.

And suddenly it was done, and Arthur was saying that they could now kiss, and they were, firmly and passionately, and everyone was cheering. They pulled away, and Draco took Harry’s left hand in his right, caressing the ring as he did.

Harry, feeling dizzy, or maybe just giddy from both relief and an overwhelming joy, followed Draco’s slightly tugging hand, walking beside him down the aisle.

***

They had a few minutes alone together afterward, back in the little parlor off of the ballroom, so they could catch their breath and be ready to properly greet their guests as a married couple. A good portion of it was used up admiring their rings and gushing over each other’s vows.

Really, it was all over a bit too fast. All too soon Narcissa was coming for them, knocking first of course, and telling them it was time for them to be announced. But not before embracing each of them first, looking at the verge of weeping at the slightest provocation. Somehow, she managed to hold herself together long enough to get them out the door.

When they entered the ballroom, Arthur barely had time to get his announcement out before there was cheering and hollering erupting from all of the guests. They smiled and waved but were inundated quickly with well-wishers, anyone who hadn’t gotten to speak to them yet and wanted to offer their congratulations. It was all a bit overwhelming, and Harry had a feeling his face would be hurting by the end, with all the grinning he was doing.

They were eventually rescued by Hermione and Pansy, who insisted that they needed some food in their stomachs after all that excitement, and before they started in on any champagne. Harry was still a bit too jittery and overcome to be properly hungry, but he also welcomed the break from being the center of attention, and so he followed.

Hermione prepared a plate of finger food of all of Harry’s favorites, while Pansy made one for Draco.

“Your hair still looks perfect,” Hermione remarked to him as she put another crab puff on his plate. Analytical eyes swept over his head a brief moment before she returned to her work. “We’ll have to remember that method for when you’re in my wedding.”

Harry’s eyes widened at that, and it must have been rather comical, as he heard Draco snort in amusement beside him. A kiss was pressed to his cheek, which momentarily distracted him from the thought of enduring that hair related torture a second time. He turned to plant a peck on his husband’s lips in thanks.

Hermione handed Harry his plate with an indulgent smile while Pansy shoved Draco’s into the blond’s waiting hands with a huff and a “Well, aren’t you two just sickeningly cute.” Harry caught the glint of affection in her eyes, though, and knew she wasn’t properly annoyed.

They only managed a few bites of food each before it was being announced that they were supposed to share their first dance. The plates were swept magically from their hands and their bodies swept – almost as if by magic as well – to the dance floor.

“This was one of the bits I was most nervous about,” Harry admitted softly as Draco settled Harry in his arms, taking the role of lead as he always naturally did when they danced.

“But you’re a wonderful dancer,” Draco murmured back, resting his cheek against Harry’s. “We do this all the time at Ministry events and the foundation’s gala.”

“I know. But that’s when other people are dancing, so I don’t feel as though everyone in the room is watching only us.”

“I have news for you, love. You’re Harry Potter. Everyone in the room is always watching you.”

Harry pulled back a bit to scowl at him, but Draco’s grin was so open and happy that Harry’s ire quickly melted, and he smiled back.

“Just do what you always do,” Draco said, pressing his nose to Harry’s, “and ignore them.”

Harry huffed in amusement but followed the advice. He knew there were “awws” and other cooing coming from their audience, but he focused instead on the familiar feeling of being safe and Draco’s arms, the gentle, subtle way that Draco knew how to lead him this way or that, timed perfectly to the music.

Dancing with Draco was always rather nice, in fact.

“There,” Draco said, kissing Harry lightly on the cheek again. “That’s much better, isn’t it?”

The song was coming to a close, and other guests were invited to join the newlyweds on the dance floor. Most of the married or otherwise committed couples did so, as well as a few friends and some of the children.

Teddy came running up to them, and Harry scooped him up, kissing his face and making him giggle. Draco leaned in and landed a kiss on Teddy’s cheek too, and Teddy remained squashed between them for another minute as they asked him what he thought of the ceremony.

“It was good,” he said. “When are we having cake?”

Both men laughed.

“Soon, Ted, I promise,” said Harry, setting him back down. “We have to let people eat some more of the dinner food first. Have you eaten?”

“Ron gave me some earlier.”

“Oh, good.”

Still, it reminded the little family that they should all eat a bit more. Judging by all that Narcissa had planned for the reception, they were in for a long night, and they would need their energy. The band was still playing, and that following that there would be a whole playlist of Harry and Draco’s selected songs that they would want to dance to with their friends. And there hadn’t been any toasts yet either. And then, of course, as Teddy reminded them more than once, there was the cake.

Now that the ceremony and the first dance were done, Harry was feeling more relaxed and happy to go with the flow of the evening. After coaxing a bit more food into their child, Harry and Draco left him to play with Victoire and Esme. They themselves returned to the dance floor to join the members of their wedding party, who were all dancing with mixed up couples. Blaise was dancing with Pansy, Theo with Hannah, and Hermione with Neville. Vesper was giving Ron instructions on the steps for a proper samba, and he was listening to her with an amusing amount of concentration. Harry grinned as he sidled up next to them, Draco in tow.

“Studying up?” Harry asked his best mate.

“Hermione and I had toyed with the idea of taking lessons,” Ron admitted. “But we haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Plenty of time to still learn,” said Vesper, correcting Ron’s grip on her back. “For a proper lead,” she told him, “you need good control. You need to be able to tell me which way to go with just the press of your hand.”

Ron nodded and they went back to dancing, Vesper talking him through the steps as they did. Harry and Draco watched for a while as Ron slowly got more comfortable with it, looking slightly less pained as the song went on, and more in control of the dance. Harry wasn’t surprised, really. He and Ron were both more physically gifted, and learning to dance, like learning to duel or play Quidditch, was just a matter of having a teacher who could show you the proper technique. Harry turned his attention back to his husband, grateful that he had found himself such a teacher early on, and could now move with confidence as others danced around them.

“I’m so happy,” Draco murmured in his ear, making Harry’s heart clench with joy and love. “I’m so, so happy.”

It made Harry want to lead Draco off the dance floor, find someplace private it, and make him even happier. But that would have to wait. He settled for a soft kiss to the man’s lips instead before pulling them even closer together.

Once guests had eaten their fill and danced it off, it was time for toasts, to precede the cutting of the cake. Ron had elected to go first, which suited Blaise as well, and so everyone took a seat at a table, glasses of champagne in hand as they looked at the redhead expectantly. He seemed perfectly comfortable up there, very much unlike Harry would have been, as he grinned at the couple and held his glass firmly.

“Thank you all so much for being here. And to Harry and Draco, congratulations!” He raised his glass as did everyone else as they cheered. “Now… it’s been said before, but I think it’s important that we make it perfectly clear that Draco Malfoy…” Ron paused for effect. “...used to be a massive git.”

Everyone laughed, including Draco, who was shaking his head even as he did so. Harry reached out and gave his husband’s hand a squeeze, grateful that Draco would be willing to tolerate the roasting that Ron wouldn’t be able to resist giving him.

“Although to be fair,” Ron said as the crowd’s laughter died down, “to be fair, we were _all_ gits, that can’t be denied. Well, except for Hermione, the only reason Harry and I are even alive.” That got another round of chuckles. “But Harry and I… we were, like twelve, after all, and you know how twelve year old boys are. But we had nothing, absolutely nothing, on Draco Malfoy. One of the first things I admired about Harry, in fact, was that first moment when he stood up to Draco, and I think Draco was pretty surprised too, if I recall.”

He looked at the blond groom for confirmation and received it in the form of an eye roll.

“Most of you know the story of how they met, so we don’t need to rehash. What came _after,_ however, was so ridiculous that it’s probably worth a revisit. Hmmm, let’s see…” He began ticking things off with his fingers. “There was the time Draco challenged us to a midnight duel and then didn’t show up, forcing us to flee from Filch and accidentally stumble upon a three headed dog guarding the Philosopher's Stone. There was that one trip to Hogsmeade where an invisible Harry threw mud at Draco, making him think it was the ghosts of the Shrieking Shack coming after him. There was the time Draco and his friends dressed up like Dementors in order to frighten Harry at a Quidditch match and fell all over each other when Harry sent a Patronus at them. And _then_ there was the time that one of us - not going to say who - was stupid enough to cast a curse at Draco with a broken wand and end up vomiting slugs for about three hours.”

The crowd was in stitches at this point, and Harry grinned up at Ron, glad he was having some fun.

“And that’s just a sampling mind you,” Ron went on. “We did enjoy tormenting each other, that’s for certain. Silly pranks and Quidditch rivalries are all well and good when you’re young like we were. However,” Ron said, his voice and face going more serious. “However, we _did_ grow up, as children always do, and at some point, things changed, didn’t they?” He looked around the room at all of his peers who had been at Hogwarts with him, as well as the professors. “Things stopped being so silly, something we could laugh about afterward or call some great adventure. Things became, quite literally, life or death. And when that happened, we changed. We all changed.” He looked at Draco again, and the room was completely silent. “We were facing impossible choices, and even then, _even then_ , we stood up for each other. Draco stood up for us, changing the course of our fate, and afterward, Harry stood up for him. He changed Draco’s fate too. Maybe, in the end, it’s not surprising at all that they are here now, officially married, officially a family. Maybe it was always going to be this way. These two _were_ a bit fixated on each other, weren’t they?”

There was a murmuring of amused agreement, and Harry and Draco exchanged sheepish grins, their faces flushed.

“You have been connected for more than half of your life now,” Ron said, now turning towards Harry and Draco. “At first in some not so great ways, and now in the deepest way possible. But you were always connected, and I for one am very happy that two such brilliant, wonderful people found happiness together. So I’ll raise a glass,” he did so, inviting his audience to follow suit, “and say congratulations once more, and over your many years together, may your bond grow even stronger, happier, and more fulfilling than it already is. Here’s to your future!”

This was followed by “here, here!” and “congratulations!” and other words of agreement from the group at large, and everyone drank. Harry took but a small sip from his glass, the events of the day and the man by his side, still clutching his hand, making him more giddy and dizzy than any wine ever could. Draco turned to look at him, his eyes a bit shiny, and Harry smiled back.

“I’m so happy,” he said, echoing Draco’s words from the dance floor, leaning him to give him yet another kiss. “I’m so, so happy.”


End file.
